


Let Me Show You

by objectiveheartmuscle



Series: LMSY Verse [1]
Category: Vampire Academy & Related Fandoms, Vampire Academy Series - Richelle Mead
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Future, Belikov Family, F/M, References to Canon, Self-Discovery, This Is Basically a Happy AU of Blood Promise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-21
Updated: 2016-05-08
Packaged: 2018-05-08 03:57:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 84,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5482463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/objectiveheartmuscle/pseuds/objectiveheartmuscle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Amidst the rumors beginning to circulate about Victor Dashkov's mysterious disappearance several years prior, Rose agrees to carry out a year-long project for Lissa, investigating why so few dhampir females become guardians. Rose expects Siberia to be the harsh, unforgiving wasteland of her stereotypes; what she encounters instead will upend everything she thought she knew about herself and challenge the very beliefs that have dictated her life up until the day she meets |him|.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to this roller coaster ride of a fic! I've finally hit the final stretch of the first draft, so it's more or less completely written. It's currently clocked in at 100k words, though I anticipate that number fluctuating wildly before the entire story finishes getting idea of a "what if Dimitri didn't take the job at St. Vladimir's?" fic came to me during class one night, so I pulled up a Google doc and wrote three thousand words before my professor let us go for the evening. I'm excited to share this with everyone!
> 
> A few notes: The plot and various reveals have already been figured our and written, so if something doesn't make sense or seems unexplained, hang tight — all will be learned in due time. (And if we get to the end and something still doesn't make sense, call me out then.) All Russian written is my own translation/transliteration, so if you speak the language better than I, feel free to correct any mistakes; this applies to any details on the culture, too. The story begins in late August 2014, and all ages, birthdays, and assorted other time references are based on facts stated by Richelle Mead on her Twitter. Updates will be posted every Sunday night unless otherwise noted.
> 
> With all else taken care of . . .

The cafe was already busy when Rose arrived, her guardian uniform loose from a night of patrolling the Court's perimeter. She pulled her ponytail out as she surveyed the crowd and ran her fingers through her hair to push some life back into it after being held back for so long. The breakfast rush was in full swing, Moroi chattering away over coffee and small meals, their guardians pressed mostly to the sides and nearly invisible to the unknown eye in their street clothes. Rose knew she stood out in her black slacks and jacket, but nobody seemed to be paying attention. At least, nobody was until a voice rang out above the din, calling her name.

"Rose!"

Immediately, her eyes found Adrian Ivashkov, longtime friend and temporary charge. His waving her over was enthusiastic but she could see the bags under his eyes betraying his late night. She flashed him a smile and began weaving through the tables to get to him.

"Your wife know you were up to no good last night?" she asked, and his grin in reply was lazy. "How late were you even out anyway?"

"The sun was still up if it matters to you, Guardian Hathaway," he said, avoiding her first question.

"I'm off duty," she growled. She stole his menu, searching for the largest meal the place offered. It wasn't her normal post-shift breakfast spot — there was a buffet diner closer to guardian headquarters where she more than likely ran into at least half a dozen other guardians she knew — but her stomach was complaining that she hadn't eaten in nearly eight hours.

"The special's got eggs and starch," Adrian offered.

Rose flipped the menu over. It still sounded small but she could swing through the buffet after she parted ways with Adrian. Eddie Castile was always working the overnight this part of the week and she hadn't seen him in a few days.

"Thanks." A server showed up, eyes darting between Rose and Adrian curiously. "Two coffees and a special," she said to the server, handing the menu off without looking away from Adrian.

"Long shift?" he asked, tone soft and genuinely concerned despite the knowing smirk on his face.

"Tedious," she replied. She sat back and finally addressed the newspaper sitting in front of him. "Anything good?"

Adrian laughed and picked it up, tossing it to her. "Not much. Speculation on this year's Coronation Day festivities. Lissa's putting together a task force to look into dhampir population numbers, which I think she mentioned a few weeks ago. Someone was up late; Jesse Zeklos got escorted from my party not even—" He flicked his wrist and pretended to check a watch that wasn't there. "—Three hours ago? And it's on page four."

"Doesn't sound like much is right," Rose said, scanning the front page headlines — QUEEN TO INVESTIGATE LOW GUARDIAN POPULATION blared across the top in bold font, a photo of Lissa at her last press conference neatly situated next to the story — and murmured a thanks when her coffee arrived. "I'd be curious to see what the results of that turn out to be," she said with a tap of her thumb on the top headline.

"What, you don't have any ideas? You're a dhampir yourself," Adrian said.

Rose bit the inside of her cheek, staring at the photo for a second longer before handing the paper back. "From my perspective, guardian male numbers are doing alright — those have always been steady and high. Male dhampirs are more likely to become guardians who, in turn, last a long time in the field. Our society expects them to put in the work. You lose the female dhampirs in the communes."

"And to blood whoreism."

Her eyes flashed as she stirred far too much sugar into her coffee. "In a nutshell, yes. I did some research on it when I was with Lissa at Lehigh as a side project. Had a couple of interesting conversations with my mom about it once we rebuilt some of our relationship. It was something I was comfortable talk to her about when I was twenty."

Adrian nodded with a sip of his juice, grimacing when the liquid hit his stomach. It was clear to Rose that he was crossing the threshold into fully hungover as they sat there. A quick nap wouldn't have done much for him. His eyes, bright as they were normally, were beginning the glaze over, bleariness setting in.

"Anyway, we lose a lot of girls when they reach novice age. They're fourteen when they become novices and when you come from a commune, that's the age when their families start to pressure them into the idea of settling down and having kids. A lot of dhampir girls who come from those kinds of families feel a sense of duty to their mothers and grandmothers to start working children into their life plan. At least, that's what I've heard. I'm inclined to agree with it, though."

"So what you're saying is your mother being almost completely absent from your life until you graduated is the reason you've graced the world with your badass fighting skills and uncanny ability to get yourself into ridiculous situations requiring spontaneous road trips to New Orleans, for one very unspecific example?" Adrian asked, smirk back in place.

Rose rolled her eyes. "You could make that argument, yes. I prefer to think I became a guardian for Lissa."

"How is she, anyway?" Adrian asked.

"Fine." Rose shrugged. "I haven't seen her much since graduation in May. Maybe once a week. She's been shifting her personal detail around to make room for me without booting out anyone else who deserves to be there and I've been picking up shift work as I can when I'm not with your wonderful self. I'm in a weird limbo right now."

"And the bond?"

"It's there." Her mouth twisted, memories from the other night surfacing.

She knew whatever her face showed, it wasn't hidden from Adrian. "Is that why you've been working mostly daylight shifts?"

"There are just some parts of Christian that I don't want to ever see again," she said, exaggerating a shudder. Adrian threw his head back in a laugh as food was put down in front of Rose. It was still as small as she'd assumed — damn Moroi and their tiny appetites for normal food — and she made a decision to go get a second breakfast after she left Adrian. She began shoveling eggs into her mouth like she was about to get dragged off by a pack of Strigoi. "Speaking of New Orleans, how's Sydney?" Rose asked after she remembered to swallow her mouthful of food.

"Great," Adrian said, his smirk softening into a lovesick smile. "I've got a Skype date with her when we're done here. She managed to get some time off to go visit Carly and her mom."

"You didn't go with her?" Rose asked. Her eyebrows were raised as she drained off her first cup of coffee.

Adrian shook his head. "Nah, Tanner's her escort, which is becoming a completely useless concept. She has a lot of freedom ever since whatever deal she struck with Stanton has finished going through. I don't think Mikhail's even in the same town as her." He sighed, a heavy, weary shudder pushing up and out from the depths of his lungs. "I figured after everything she went through, she could use some space. I miss her to death, but I can see it's been good for her. A lot of the spark is back in her eyes."

"That's good," Rose said. "I get that. I'm happy for you guys, by the way. I don't remember if I mentioned it."

"You have, many times, but it's nice to hear every so often," Adrian said. They fell silent; he let her finish most of her food, tapping on his phone as he pointlessly checked his social media feeds. "You off to bed after this?"

"Yeah." Rose put down her fork and set in on the second cup of coffee. "I've got another overnight later. And the day after that, and the day after that. . . ."

"Well, if you can tear yourself away from sleeping the day away, you should come over for dinner some night this week. You  _are_  my guardian after all, but more importantly, I miss your company terribly." He mockingly clutched his heart, his eyes dancing with mirth.

"I don't know, you seem pretty able to handle yourself." She popped the last bit of toast into her mouth and smiled. "Besides, I'm in a pretty committed relationship with my bed. It might get jealous if I leave it longer than usual."

"Be sure to bring it flowers and chocolates when you get home afterwards. In all seriousness, though, you've been pretty boring since Lissa got her degree. All you've been doing the past four months is working. I can't even remember the last time we got drunk."

"It was back in May, at your graduation after-party, the one Sydney completely disapproved of but relented to for reasons still unknown to the rest of us," she said automatically, attention suddenly diverted to the two figures standing outside the cafe, peering in. One was a guardian, his red collar giving away his status as one of the Queen's; the other, a Moroi, looked like a messenger type. Royal business.

"See, that's just lame. You're twenty-two, Rose, you deserve to be having fun."

"I'll have fun when I don't have Strigoi to worry about," Rose said, though her distraction kept any malice out of her voice that may've been there. The two strangers entered the cafe and were headed towards the back where she sat with Adrian.

"Sydney has more fun than you, and she doesn't even believe in alcohol," Adrian said and his smile fell as he finally noticed Rose's changed expression. "Rose, what's wrong?"

The messenger stopped next to Adrian. Rose felt herself draw up to attention. "Guardian Hathaway, you've been summoned by the Queen. She wishes to speak with you immediately."

"Is she in trouble?" Rose demanded, already standing and buttoning her jacket.

"No, this is all about you."

Rose nodded and squeezed Adrian's shoulder as she stepped around the table. "I'll call you later."

"Sure. Let me know what's up when you get done."

"I will." She dropped a parting kiss to his cheek. "Thanks for breakfast."

"Always, Hathaway."

The messenger cleared his throat and Rose straightened up. "Right, sorry, let's go." She glanced at the guardian — she didn't know his name — and followed the messenger out of the cafe and across Court to the administrative buildings. He led her to a boardroom, opened the door, and then left.

She stepped in, greeted by the entirety of the Royal Council, several members of the Guardian Council, and Hans Croft, the Court guardian captain, his gray hair betraying a recent, neat trim. Lissa sat at the head of the table on the opposite side of the room. The door clicked shut behind her and conversation ceased as a dozen and half or so heads turned to look at her.

"Welcome, Guardian Hathaway. You're not in trouble, I promise," Lissa said, voice warm but all business.

"Then what's going on?" Rose asked. Her gaze flicked across the room before coming to rest on the TV projecting a set of numbers behind her. She pointed to it. "What's—?"

"Those are the last ten years of guardian graduation totals," Hans said. "Have a seat, Rose."

Fighting her internal battle on standing like her instincts were saying over listening to Hans, she awkwardly sat down in the swivel chair across from Lissa, all the way at the other end of the long table. Hans was to her immediate left; the seat to the right was empty, separating her from Princess Drozdov.

"Is this about your task force to investigate guardian numbers?" Rose guessed, annoyed from both being bombarded like this and that she didn't notice Lissa sending for her across the bond. She poked at it; a soft barricade was in place. Her best friend looked like she was concentrating hard, which answered Rose's question on that. Lissa wasn't the one who usually put up a block.  _What was she hiding?_

"It is," Lissa said. "You're the task force."

That stopped Rose short. "What do you mean, 'I'm the task force'? _Your Majesty_ ," she tacked on hastily when someone gave a conspicuous cough. It'd been four years and Rose was still unaccustomed to Lissa's elected status.

"The Queen has proposed a project to which the Council has given a majority favorable vote on," Princess Badica said, voice cool and slippery.

"The only way to know for sure why our numbers are the way they are is to get in on the ground level and learn exactly how we end up with less than half of all dhampirs as guardians." Rose couldn't help but feel Lissa's infectious confidence seep into her, tired as she was. "Dhampir births are at an all-time high, yet guardian numbers are the lowest they've been in centuries. We — I — can't move forward on any kind of program to get dhampir girls to become guardians if we don't know how we lose them between entering and leaving school."

Rose's eyes slid to the left to see how Hans was reacting. Rarely were dhampirs ever consulted on issues pertaining to them. Status quo saw the Council passing laws directly affecting dhampirs without warning or their input. Getting any kind of opinion from the Guardian Council was rare. The age decree several years ago that Lissa was still working to reverse was the latest in a long line of unrepresented legal interferences on dhampir life. This was seemed like the first step in her attempts at repairing Moroi-dhampir relations.

"I'm still confused," Rose said finally, after Hans gave nothing away.

"Lissa shared with us what she received her degree in at Lehigh," Princess Badica said as if it explained it.

Eyebrows knit together in confusion, Rose turned to Lissa, who was smiling. "Remember junior year, when you were complaining about your methods classes, about how needing to know that stuff was pointless? And how I told you to pay attention anyway because it may be useful later down the road?"

"Yes," Rose said slowly. "I'm still not getting what's going on."

"Once I told them what we majored in — anthropology — it was a fairly unanimous decision that you should be the one to carry out the project," Lissa said.

"I'm a guardian.  _Your_  guardian, technically. I should be here, with you." Rose felt like she was floundering. Where was Lissa about to send her?

"As you always will be," Lissa said. "I need you to do something else in the short term." A folder with the Dragomir crest emblazoned on the front was slid to Rose by Hans. Lissa continued: "I've identified one of our larger dhampir communes where the correlation between dhampir births and guardian graduation rates steeps negatively. I'm asking you to go find out why. You'll be staying with a family that's been living in the town since before the Russian Revolution."

"Russian Revolution?" Rose echoed, incredulous disbelief creeping in. Lissa's lips were evened out and she nodded to the folder, which Rose promptly tore open. One of the visible papers had a printout of a town.

Baia, Novosibirsk Oblast.

The name was in Cyrillic letters just underneath along with a small screenshot of Google Maps.

"This is in Siberia," Rose said, feeling stupid for pointing out the obvious.

All Lissa did was nod. Rose's growing urge to get up and storm out hit a swell. No way was she doing this. She was a guardian above all else, dedicated to staying by Lissa's side until the day she died. Majoring in anthropology had only been because that'd been Lissa's choice and Rose's obligation to duty said she had to study what Lissa did to stay by her side. Sure, some of the subject matter had be interesting and Rose could see why Lissa had wanted to study it — a basic understanding of how to appreciate and understand people with differing viewpoints and life experiences was necessary for a good Queen — but at no point had Rose ever intended to use her degree for anything in life after she graduated. She'd only gone to college because Lissa had.

What Lissa was asking, though — go live with a family in a town somewhere on the other side of the world to answer a pretty broad, complicated question — was exactly what her classes had taught her how to do. And Rose knew that Lissa knew this, too.

"I don't speak Russian," Rose said, as though that alone would make Lissa pick someone else.

"You'll be put in intensive language training beginning today for the next month," said Hans, finally jumping in. "We'll rearrange your shifts to accommodate you preparing for this trip."

"How long am I going to be over there?" Rose didn't flip through the papers. She didn't want to. This was the  _last_  thing she wanted to do. A pack of hungry Strigoi was preferable to this. At least a hungry pack of Strigoi was something Rose felt confident in handling.

"A year. Thirteen months, to be exact." Hans was being supportively neutral in this, which was frustrating as hell to Rose. Some small part of her wanted to argue that if nobody else supported this, she wouldn't be forced to the other side of the world for a ridiculously long time. "The youngest daughter in the family is beginning her final year at St. Basil's next week. You won't see her a lot, but what time you do get with her will be valuable. She'll have insights as the year unfolds that her older sisters won't or might have forgotten. There's a son, too, so you can draw comparisons within the same family to make inferences on the whole."

"I know what I need to do," Rose snapped, her nerves wearing thin from exhaustion. Shit.  _Should've kept my mouth shut._  It sounded like she was accepting the job; several Moroi began packing up their things as a result. One slipped an identical folder in his briefcase and excused himself before Rose could find the words to speak again. "I don't have a choice in this?"

Lissa's expression and thoughts gave nothing away, the block still in place, though Rose could sense that some of her exhaustion was probably what she was siphoning off Lissa.

"I think we're done here for the day," Lissa said to those gathered, not looking at Rose.  _Stay after?_  Lissa asked across the bond and Rose nodded, fingers toying with the edge of the folder. It was a few minutes until both Councils and the Moroi's respective guardians filed out, off to do whatever royals did on a daily basis. Go to the spa. Count their money. Laugh at non-royals. Rose wasn't sure.

Only Hans stayed behind. Lissa came up, her own folder in hand, and took the empty chair to Rose's right.

"You don't have to do this if you don't want to," Lissa offered, voice soothing. Rose checked the bond in the off chance Lissa was slipping a bit of healing into the conversation. She was relieved to find it clear of magic. "But you were the first to come to mind. You spent four years learning how to do exactly what I need done. I figured you might eventually come around once you realized that you could contribute to helping guardian numbers."

_Duty to your people_  was essentially what Lissa was saying and Rose heard it loud and clear. She frowned. Lissa knew her almost too well sometimes. As much as Rose felt compelled to stay, to be near Lissa's side and serve as her guardian, a sense of duty to the dhampir community as a whole tugged at Rose. She'd never been the type to want to play the hero — being Lissa's guardian had always been good enough, senior year antics aside — but the idea of playing a major role in increasing guardian numbers was tempting.

Part of her wanted to be mad at her best friend for playing her like this, but Rose was tired enough to begin questioning her second breakfast plans.

"Who's the family?" she asked tiredly, sidestepping an outright admitting of defeat.

"The Belikovs." Lissa's jade green eyes twinkled and Rose could feel excitement leak through the bond.

"That's—" Rose gaped, a hit of adrenaline surging through her, forcing her into a sudden a loss for words. "Like Dimitri Belikov, the Belikovs?"

"The same ones," Lissa said with a knowing smile. "They're anxious to be part of this project, despite the face that they don't know the details of what you'll be working on."

"The man's a legend. A god, really.  _Lissa_ ," Rose breathed, still hung up on the first part.

"I know, Rose."

"He took on three Strigoi at once and lived to tell the tale."

"I know, Rose."

"His trial score was so high, it shattered the current record and nobody's ever come close to matching it."

"You were pretty close, actually," Hans interjected.

Rose started. "Really? I mean, I know I was top of my class, but . . . really?" Trial scores were usually airtight secrets outside of the graduating class to avoid inflating egos and imposing a hierarchy of who was a better guardian. The one exception to the rule had been Dimitri Belikov, who'd scored so high that someone deemed it worthy enough to leak, and nobody had seemed bothered because it was so shocking.

Hans nodded. "You would've been closer had you not lost time calming down your Moroi, but it was still up there. Alberta was mildly shocked when she sent me your class's scores."

Rose made an approving face and looked down at the two short stacks of paper barely held together in the folder. "What are the odds I'll meet him?"

"Slim," Lissa said. "He's—where is he, Hans?"

"St. Basil's, general security. He doesn't go home often, opts to stay at the school on breaks. He's been there the past few years after—"

"After his charge died," Rose finished. "That was huge news when it broke."

"I remember you and Eddie talked about nothing else for two weeks straight," Lissa said.

Rose shrugged. "It was a big deal." She fell silent, still looking at the papers. The idea of meeting his family, living with them, getting to know them pretty intimately was momentarily overwhelming. "You said a month of Russian?" she asked Hans, who nodded in reply.

"Four hours every day, Monday through Saturday," he said. "Better to suffer through a month of this than fumbling your way around the language when you get there."

"I have a counselor set up to come talk to you about culture shock and homesickness and all that once a week so you can start working on making the transition," Lissa said. "Pack however much you want. All your bags will be paid to fly over with you. Olena, the mother, said you're welcome to bring as much as you want. We'll work out a schedule for who and when you submit your reports. A comprehensive report upon your return will be required."

"You'll be paid the standard eighty hours per paycheck," Hans added. "With the nature of the project, you'll technically be on the clock the whole time you're there, but you won't be actively gathering information all day every day. There's a breakdown of your allocated funds, pay periods, and monthly budget in the packet on the left. Standard field procedures and rules apply, even though this kind of assignment has never really been done before."

Rose's head was beginning to hurt and her limbs felt weary. She was supposed to have been asleep by now. "Alright," she said, not able to coherently say much else. Suddenly, a thought occurred to her. "This isn't more punishment for the . . . you-know-who thing, is it? Because I did my time for that."

Hans looked like he was trying very hard not to look in Lissa's direction, much to Rose's surprise. He wasn't supposed to be privy to the accidental murder of Victor Dashkov. That was a secret between less than half a dozen people, and Hans was not one of them, as far as Lissa had promised.

"No, it's not," Lissa said, gaze not wavering from Rose's. "You did your time for what happened. This has nothing to do with that."

"I know this is a lot," Hans said apologetically. "Get some sleep, read over the information we've given you.

Lissa leaned forward and grabbed one of Rose's hands. "This is not for that other thing. I promise. We can chat again some time later this week. Maybe at Adrian's?"

"You're going?" Rose asked excitedly, grateful for the change in conversation, and Lissa nodded. Rose let Lissa's happiness bleed through the bond. "Good. I haven't really seen you in a while."

"I know. If someone told me adulthood would be this busy, I would've opted out a while ago." Despite her friend's joking, Rose could see Lissa was thriving. She was so much brighter now than she ever had been during high school. Being Queen suited her.

"Tell me about it," Rose replied and her laugh turned into a yawn.

"Go get some sleep," Lissa said. "We'll catch up later."

Rose nodded and took that as her cue, closing and tucking the folder under her arm as she she stood. She glanced back at the door to bade goodbye and saw Lissa had taken her vacated chair and was in sudden, deep conversation with Hans.

Even though Rose left with a small smile on her face, something like dread took hold in the pit of her stomach, second breakfast completely forgotten about.

* * *

**CODE OF ETHICS AND STANDARD GUARDIAN FIELD PRACTICES, VERSION FOUR**

_ADOPTED 31 JANUARY 1925_

_LAST REVISED 14 JANUARY 2013_

[ . . . ]

SECTION III —  _Personal Conduct_

[ . . . ]

K. Sexual Relationships — Consensual (rev. 2011)

i. In the interest of the Moroi in which they are protecting, guardians are to refrain from entering sexual relationships with other guardians or their Moroi charge. In the event that a complaint is lodged regarding this kind of behavior, suitable and appropriate disciplinary action will be taken after a thorough investigation. Sexual relationships have been found to significantly draw from a guardian's attention in the course of their duty.

ii. Relationships of a romantic nature are classified here for the same reason. Romantic relationships between two guardians or a guardian and their Moroi charge are expressly forbidden without prior approval from the Guardian Council. Approval will be given if the guardian(s) can prove that the relationship will not in any way hinder the guardian from devoting their whole self and attention to their duty of protecting their Moroi charge (s).

[ . . . ]

SECTION XIV —  _Addendums_

A. They Come First (rev. 1947)

i. Guardians are to be reminded of the oath to which they swore loyalty upon receiving their promise mark. It is by this governing principle that all guardians should conduct their personal and professional lives. Without full compliance by guardians, the entirety Moroi safety is compromised. Any lapse in judgment that compromises Moroi safety will be dealt with by the harshest appropriate measures as determined by an internal investigation.

[ . . . ]

_NEXT ANTICIPATED REVISION, JANUARY 2015_

* * *

"How do you say . . ." Glass of soda in hand, Adrian leaned against the counter next to Sydney, who stood at the stove stirring pasta. His arms were crossed over his chest, fingers gripping the rim of the glass under his arm.

"How do you ask to say something?" Sydney asked for her husband, tucking her short, dirty blonde hair behind her ear as she looked at Rose over her shoulder.

Rose narrowed her eyes, trying to recall the hours of Russian that had been drilled into her head over the past five weeks. She shifted forward in her chair at the breakfast bar, spinning her wine glass by the stem on the counter. After half a minute of grasping for an answer, she gave up. "I have no idea," she said and took a sip of wine.

" _Kak po-ruskii_ ," Sydney supplied. "Literally 'how in Russian'?"

Rose swallowed, mouthing the words over to herself as moscato ran down her throat.

"What about 'excuse me'?" Sydney prompted as the doorbell rang.

"I'll get that," Adrian offered, setting his glass down and kissing Sydney on the temple before disappearing.

"That I definitely don't remember," Rose said.

" _Izvinite_ ," Sydney replied.

Rose groaned, head dropping to the black marble counter. "This is going to be a disaster."

"What is?" Christian asked as he and Lissa walked in, her guardians for the evening sliding in along the back wall. Rose returned Lissa's one-armed hug and reached for a wine glass and the bottle.

"Apparently I learned nothing in my Russian crash course this past month," Rose said. She slid the newly poured glass to Lissa. "No offense, Lissa, but that guy sucked."

Lissa laughed. "Yeah, I'm sure it's all his fault, never mind that he's a native speaker."

"It's just stage fright," Sydney said, stepping away from the stove and letting Christian take over, who immediately pulled the pasta off to drain. "When I was posted in St. Petersburg, my first dozen or so interactions with locals were a nightmare. Eventually you pick up on it."

"Thanks," Rose drawled. "That's really comforting."

The doorbell rang and Adrian disappeared again.

"Have you ever been out of the country before?" Sydney asked with a sip of water.

"Yeah, a few times, when I was younger. I'd spend a week somewhere in Europe with my mom on breaks, but that was, like, twice, when I was seven. Nothing like this."

"Nah, Rose, you got this," Eddie said loudly as he entered, a vibrant Jill tucked under his arm. Mia and Adrian followed.

"Yeah, if there's anyone who can go be nosy as hell because Lissa asked them to, it's you," Christian said, rolling oil in a pan.

"Besides, this might be an opportunity to meet a guy," Mia said knowingly as she took the empty seat on Rose's other side and set down her own offering of wine, pulling her silky purple top away from her stomach as she settled on the chair. "You know, since no one here seems to be good enough for you."

Rose set her wine down and sat back, shaking her head. "No, I'm just going to work. Getting involved with anyone could compromise the integrity of the report and regardless, I'm not allowed. Besides," she added while ignoring Mia's eye roll and Jill's complementing  _whatever you say_  look, if only because Lissa was tense as a board next to her, "I'm still waiting for the right person. If I fall in love, then I fall in love. My main concern in life right now is being Lissa's guardian and being friends with everyone gathered in this room. Anything else is just icing on the cake of what I already have." Her eyes swept across everyone's disbelief. "I'm serious, you guys. Everyone here is all I need. Your happiness makes me happy."

"Well, I can toast to that," Adrian said, pulling Sydney closer to him and holding his soda in the air. "Actually, I wanted to say something, anyway, so that was a great transition. Thanks, Rose."

Rose raised her glass in response with a slightly exasperated smile.

"Give me a second," Christian said as he laid steaks out with satisfying sizzles on the oiled pan, Lissa and Mia finishing wine pouring for the group. He turned as he wiped his hands on a towel hanging from the oven door, and took a glass from Lissa. "You got seven minutes, Ivashkov."

"Thanks, man," Adrian joked with a good-natured eye roll. He turned back to Rose. "Little Dhampir. You are my third favorite person right after Sydney and myself, in that order." Soft laughter. "And as far as ex-girlfriends turned close best friends go, you are the only one that exists." More laughter as Rose looked down for a moment, blushing. "But I say that to make it clear how important you are to me so this way you know exactly how much I'm going to miss you. The next year is going to be very boring for me and cold for you because trust me, I've been to Russia. It's cold. Don't listen to the locals, their brains have frozen from years of Arctic exposure." Rose laughed at that, softly and to herself, and Adrian smiled in return. "And while I've tried to convince Lissa to send literally anyone else—"

"He has, multiple times," Lissa interjected.

"She insists Rose is the only person whose opinion she trusts, so I guess we're all doomed to a year without Rose, who I know is going to kick ass on this super secret mission that I know nothing about." And with that, Adrian nodded to no one in general, winked to Rose, and took a sip of soda, everyone following suit with their respective drinks.

"Thank you, Adrian. Really," Rose said, hands clasped over her heart. Christian turned back to the stove, hiding a smile of his own.

Adrian shrugged, turning his head awkwardly to look at Sydney next to him. "Touchy and feely are two companions I know well, thanks to this one."

Lissa sat up straighter, her already ramrod back tightening as she shifted to the edge of her barstool. "I'd like to say something, too, if I could?" Predictably, no one objected, which she took it as her cue. "I've gotten a lot of questions, from Rose especially, about why I asked her and I just wanted to clear the air and finally explain 'Why Rose'." She turned to Rose. "Yes, I'm going to miss you like crazy and yes, it will be impossible to go on without you living nearby as Christian was complaining the other night."

Christian graciously mocked a bow as he plated food, purposely bumping elbows with a grinning Eddie.

"But I chose you because as Adrian said, I trust no one else to get the information I've asked you to collect. I can't think of anyone as dedicated to her people and her position as you, Rose, and if there's anyone out there who can come up with a solution that works for everyone, it's you."

"No pressure, Liss," Rose quipped with a nervous smile. The bond was pretty quiet given the amount of emotion that should be pouring over from Lissa. There she went, hiding something from Rose. What really was going on with this assignment?

Lissa's own smile didn't falter. "Those are my reasons, as succinctly as I can get them. And Rose, I promise, when you get back, you  _will_  have a spot in my guardian detail. That should be worked out in the next few months."

"I'm holding you to that," Rose said, leaning over to give her best friend another hug. Behind her, Mia took a photo for her social media collage of Rose's Send-Off Dinner.

Christian addressed the group, arms in the air. "If the sentimentality is over for the moment, dinner is served."

* * *

"You okay?" Sydney asked over the din of the Frankfurt International Airport.

"Yeah," Rose lied as she stared off into space, her fingers twisting her  _nazar_  around her neck, a Christmas gift from her mother several years prior.

Sydney checked her cell phone. "We've got an hour until boarding. I'm going to get food."

"Get some for you, too," Rose replied robotically, her gaze fixed and unfocused on a giant potted tree sitting on the other side of the terminal.

Sydney left with a reassuring squeeze to Rose's shoulder.


	2. Chapter Two

" _Kak tebya zovut?_ "

Rose squinted at the rental car guy. Did he say something about a name? She couldn't remember, and hours of jetlag were quickly catching up to her.

"Ivashkov. _Imya_ — Sydney."

" _Pozhaluysta, viy mozhete zapisat eto?_ "

"Ess—ee—deh—"

Rose tuned out, completely lost despite the conversation sounding fairly simple. Her legs were weary from disuse, yet the last thing she wanted to do after fifteen hours of flying was sit down. Pushing the suitcases closer to Sydney, who seemed to be confusing the guy, and her official off-Court escort, a guardian named Serena who was doing an excellent imitation of a wallflower, Rose wandered over to a rack of pamphlets advertising tourist traps and overpriced restaurants. Nothing was in English, though few words — Hermitage Museum, Winter Palace — jumped out at her. Lissa must be out of her mind to have decided Rose was the most qualified for this job. Her head was hurting just trying to read a couple of tourist pamphlets and Lissa expected her to spend a year here?

 _Duty makes you do crazy things,_ she reasoned.

"Rose?"

She looked up to see Sydney waving her over.

" _Shto eto?_ " Sydney asked the agent. Oh, good, an easy question to decipher. Rose could at least figure out that much. _What is this?_

" _Shto?_ " the agent asked. _What?_

" _Ya zakazal ekonomichnogo avtomobilya, ne kompaktnii_ ," Sydney replied, pointing down to the paperwork her pen was hovering over. _I booked an economy car, not a compact._

" _Kompaktnii vsye u nas yest. Razve viy ne poluchili pismo?_ " the agent asked. Rose caught the first half, something about compact being all he had, but the second part escaped her. _Pismo_ was mail. Something with communication?

" _Nyet_ ," Sydney said, clearly annoyed. _No._

" _Moi izvineniya. Ya tolko vzimat_ —"

Rose tuned back out after the agent apologized and started rectifying the situation. Her phone buzzed, still connected to the airport Wi-Fi, and she pulled it out to see messages from Lissa wishing her luck and safe travels and from Adrian sending hugs to both her and Sydney. She tapped out responses to both of them and shoved her phone back in her pocket when Sydney slid the paperwork towards her.

"Adrian sends his love," Rose said, taking the pen.

"That's nice," Sydney said, completely distracted, and pointed to the line Rose needed to sign on. "All I need you to do is sign there. I'm making you a second driver. We'll have a couple driving lessons during the two weeks I'm here."

"I know how to drive," Rose said defensively. She signed on the line, a large 'R' and 'H' dominating the signature.

"Not in Russia you don't," Sydney said with a humorless laugh and then slid the paperwork over to the agent who responded, in Russian, that he needed their licenses.

"Thank you for helping me get that last year." Rose nodded towards the machine currently copying her license.

Sydney waved her off. "I think it's ridiculous nobody taught you how to drive just because you were on the run when they proctored driver's ed." She paused and flashed Rose a smile. "But you're welcome. Sorry, I'm tired."

"No, I feel you on that one," Rose said, stifling a sudden yawn as she took her license back.

* * *

The late afternoon light filtered in weakly over Rose's shoulders, the letters on the pages of her book shadowing more with every mile passed. Sydney had drawn her legs up underneath her and was tapping away at her computer without break, making Rose wondered what she was up to without any Internet. Serena had curled up on the foldaway bed above Sydney's head for a nap after making sure Rose would be able to handle a sudden Strigoi attack at four in the afternoon.

Rose sat up from where she'd been slumping against the sidewall, pillow not providing enough cushion to have warded off the twinge in her back from bad posture. Her gaze wandered out the window as she checked on Lissa through the bond, who was in some meeting about flowers. Not bored enough to watch Lissa debate tulips over lilies with some old Moroi women who looked wrinkled enough to be a flower herself, Rose moved to reach down into her suitcase for her phone and earbuds.

"It's coming up," Sydney said without preamble.

"What is?"

Sydney pointed out the window as they passed a tall, white obelisk, at which Rose's eyebrows drew together in confusion. "What was that?"

"That was the boundary between Europe and Asia," Sydney said with a small smile before turning back to her laptop.

 _Asia_. Hearing it made Rose realize just how far from home she was.

Something finally slid shut inside her head and suddenly, the weight of the trip fell on Rose's shoulders, heavy and wet with dread.

* * *

Field work is the study of people and of their culture in their natural habitat. Anthropological field work has been characterized by the prolonged residence of the investigator, his participation in and observation of the society, and his attempt to understand the inside view of the native peoples . . . . Field work [has come] to mean immersion in a tribal society — learning, as far as possible, to speak, think, feel, and act as a member of its culture . . . .

— Hortense Powdermaker, _Stranger and Friend: The Way of the Anthropologist_ (1966)

* * *

It was two days by train and another five hours by car, a road trip that Rose felt like would never end until they were taking a left off the highway and landing right smack in the middle of a veritable town.

"It's a real place."

Sydney snorted, navigating the streets with the ease of someone who'd been there before. "What were you expecting, shacks and dirt roads?"

"Yeah," Rose said, dumbfounded by her assumptions being blown away. "You know, that poor village aesthetic."

Laughing, Sydney shook her head. "There's a whole economy to the dhampir community, one that you, a guardian born to a guardian, wouldn't know about."

"But not everyone's . . . not human," Rose said slowly, catching sight of a human couple walking down a street, her exhaustion from days of travel pushing her processing speed to a grinding halt.

In the backseat, Serena sat still as a statue.

"No," Sydney agreed as they passed from commercial to residential. It was here that Rose could see dirt roads leading off from the main one they were on, but some looked like they'd been freshly paved over, a thin first layer betraying the foundation that lay underneath. Sydney didn't elaborate further and turned a right onto one of the dirt roads and then turned another right down a paved street of wooden, two story houses. She stopped on the street in front of a white house, red and blue painted flowers along the base making it stand out from the rest on the street.

This was it.

Rose was barely halfway out the car before a woman in her late forties stepped out of the front door and waved, following a set of stones that led from the house to the street in what was more or less a path.

" _Zdravstvuyte_ , Olena," Sydney rolled out, sharing the customary three cheek kisses she'd warned Rose about the night before.

"You must be Rose," Olena said as she took Rose's hands in hers.

"Yeah," Rose said, trying not to gape too openly. She'd seen one picture of Dimitri Belikov before, in an online post that had gone around during the aftermath of the bloody mess his charge had died in, but Rose would've been able to pick the woman out of a crowd as his mother. The resemblance between mother and son was so striking, it was borderline eerie.

"You must be very tired," Olena said knowingly. Her accent was thick and her smile was warm and it set Rose at ease. As much as she hated stereotyping, the woman before her was exactly what Rose would describe an older Russian woman to look like. Short. Stocky. Full cheeks and weathered skin.

"Yeah," Rose repeated, grateful for the space when Olena dropped her hands. Serena had taken it upon herself to start pulling suitcases out of the car and once Olena noticed, she turned back to the house and shouted something in Russian that Rose didn't catch. A woman, maybe ten years older than Rose, appeared at the doorway, wiping her hands on a towel. She brightened when she saw the group outside and quickly picked her way across the stones, barefoot and avoiding the rain-soaked grass. She tucked the towel in her back pocket.

"Karolina," she introduced briefly with a nod and warm smile of her own, and she jumped into helping Serena quickly enough to let Rose assume she was one of the daughters..

"Is Paul up?" Olena asked.

Karolina rolled her eyes. "Babushka's working on him."

As if on cue, a yelp rang out from an open window on the second floor. Karolina gave her mother a look as if to say _See?_

"I have a fifteen-year-old son," Karolina explained with an expression that said she'd rather shoot herself in the foot than talk about him.

"Ah," Rose said, nodding as if she understood.

"Come inside, lunch is nearly ready. Do you drink coffee?" Olena asked, beckoning Rose and Sydney forward and leaving Serena and Karolina to work out the luggage.

Any inclinations Rose had about going to bed were decidedly distracted by the physical warmth and pastry scent she walked into. She was so entranced by the house — a wooden staircase leading upstairs was almost up against the door, a small hallway next to it leading to a back door, a living room to the right and a fairly sizable kitchen on the left, pictures everywhere — that she almost didn't notice Sydney slip into the kitchen, nor a loud, shrill scream followed by the weight of a small child running straight into her legs.

" _Privyet_ ," the girl said, her arms wrapped around Rose's legs and looking up at her.

Children were not a thing Rose was comfortable with, but she forced a smile, tucked her hair behind her ear, and looked down anyway. She was going to have to live with this small child for the next year. "Hi."

"This is Katya. She doesn't know English yet," Olena said, trading her rainboots for a pair of slippers.

"Oh," Rose said awkwardly, like the communication gap between her and the girl hadn't just widened by miles.

"Hopefully she'll start soon," Olena said as another pair of feet ran down the stairs.

"Katya," the second girl whined, brandishing a hairbrush. Her high ponytail threw off any guesses Rose could make about her age. " _Dayte mne chistit volosy!_ " Let me brush your hair!

" _Nyet_ ," Katya said before tearing off into the kitchen and the other girl took after her. There was a crash followed by a woman shouting in Russian.

"Zoya doesn't know English either." Olena gave the kitchen a worried glance and reached for a small bag by the door. "Here."

Rose swallowed any wary looks she might've given back home and looked inside. A pair of black slippers with red roses stitched on the top stared back.

" _Tapochki_ ," Olena said. _Slippers_. "Yours. Princess Dragomir said you like black."

Something warm filled Rose's chest and she bit back a comment on how much she hated getting things with roses on them. " _Spasibo_." _Thank you._

"I wasn't about to make you live in one of our guest pairs for the year," Olena said. "My mother did the stitching herself."

Rose nodded, pulling them out and changing into them without a word. Her tutor had taught her basics in Russian culture — enough so that Rose wouldn't offend anyone enough to get deported — and one of the first things he'd mentioned was that it was a short road to a quick death if one wore their street shoes into the house past the foyer.

The door opened as Karolina and Serena started entering, and Olena ushered Rose into the kitchen to get her out of the way. Zoya had managed to corner Katya and was, to Rose's surprise, brushing Katya's hair pretty gently. Another woman, younger than Karolina, was pulling plates out of a cabinet and a man definitely not Dimitri but dhampir all the same sat at the table, a small boy on his lap. Sydney twisted to look up from her seat as Rose entered and the two exchanged a smile.

"Well isn't this a full house," Rose muttered to her friend, who coughed to stifle a laugh.

"That is Aleks," Olena said as if she hadn't heard or understood Rose, pointing to the man at the table, who gave a friendly wave back. "And Alexei is the boy. And Sonya—" Who flashed a smile, plates in hand, and beckoned the two young girls over to help her set the table. "Vika is at school, like you know, and my son, Dimitri, works there. They'll be home in December." The woman's voice held the wistful note of a mother who missed her children terribly. Rose nodded, trying to take it all in.

"Alexei doesn't speak English either?" Rose guessed and Olena nodded, sitting down by Aleks at the large, round table.

"Alonya, you know I go by Sasha around here," Aleks said, his tone tired with an inside joke. Olena tsked in response, a practiced response.

"I'll call you Sasha when you marry my daughter," Olena replied.

Karolina entered then with another eye roll. "Leave the poor boy alone, mama."

" _Spasibo_ ," Aleks sighed.

Karolina sat down next to him, one leg crossed over the other, her eyes twinkling. "He'll marry me when he gets his shit together and is a man about it," she said and then laughed when Aleks made an indignant noise.

"I'm a guardian, thank you," he said in defense.

"And yet I don't see you out there fighting for my safety," Karolina replied, but her tone was soft and joking. As if to prove her point, he stuck his tongue out at her and turned his attention back to Alexei when the boy tugged on his shirt, crayon in his other hand.

"Sit, Rose, please," Olena said, standing and moving to the stove when Sonya started turning the burners off. She began pulling food off the simmering pans and stacking it on serving platters while the girls put forks by plates. Deeming they were safe enough for the moment, Sonya had turned her back to start making coffee.

Rose took a seat next to Sydney, trying to gauge how comfortable it would be if she were to slump over and fall asleep. She yawned, gathering her hair back into a ponytail, twisting it once, and letting it fall down her back.

" _U vas yest ochen krasivye volosy_ ," a voice whispered from Rose's other side. She whipped her head around to see Zoya standing on her knees on the empty chair next to her, hairbrush nowhere to be found. A little louder, Zoya asked, " _Mogu li ya chistit yego?_ "

"She said she likes your hair and wants to know if she can brush it," Sydney translated into Rose's ear, who nodded.

"I got that much." And then, addressing Zoya, she took a deep breath and steeled herself. " _Viy mozhete_ . . . _chistit yego, yego_ . . ." Panic welled up in her as she fumbled through the words. " _Yego . . . mozhet byt pozzhe_." _You can brush it, maybe later._

Zoya, for all of her young energy, had waited patiently for Rose to get through the sentence, and satisfied with the answer, she nodded, climbed off the chair and returned to Katya.

"English, I like English. I'm too tired for this right now," Rose muttered to Sydney as Sonya set down a plastic pitcher of bubbling hot water and a large tin wrapped in bright paper with " _kofe_ " scrawled in black marker.

"All we have this month is instant coffee," Sonya said apologetically, her accent as thick as her mother's. "Dimka's check doesn't come in for another week."

The words hit Rose unexpectedly and she felt the urge to quell the embarrassment in Sonya's eyes. It hadn't really occurred to Rose until that moment what kind of life the Belikovs actually lived — it wasn't like the wealthy flocked to small Siberian towns for their permanent residences.

Rose had a sudden sneaking suspicion she should've appreciated her last cup of Starbucks at the Moscow train station a little more.

"Coffee is coffee," she replied diplomatically, taking the mug Olena handed her in between trips between the stove and table. " _Spasibo._ "

Sonya seemed to take her words to heart and some of the embarrassment faded. She was about to say something when the sounds of someone trudging down the stairs shot through the kitchen entrance like gunshots in the air.

"Took you long enough," Karolina said to her son as he entered, not looking up from his phone.

Paul mouthed the words back at her, clearly irritated, and threw himself into a chair across from Rose and Sydney as he pocketed his phone. He propped his head up with both hands, annoyance streaked across his face, and gave the pair a sparing glance. "You're Rose?"

Rose nodded, her old defenses going up in the wake of a sarcastic, sleepy teenager. Memories of dealing with Christian at breakfast every morning during her senior year of high school flashed through her mind.

"And you're the Alchemist," Paul said, nodding to Sydney.

Rose raised her eyebrows when Sydney didn't bother to correct him. "Yes."

"Wow. You two are just loads of fun. And I had my ass—"

"Language, Paul," Karolina interjected.

"—Sorry, mama," he responded lazily. "I was dragged out of bed for this rousing circus?" He glanced at Karolina. "Thanks, mama."

"Damn straight you were," Rose shot back, finally finding her voice amid the completely new world she was now up to her elbows in. Small children made her uncomfortable, but she could dish it back to the likes of Paul any day of the week.

Paul grinned, lighting up, and out of the corner of her eye, Rose saw Karolina bristle like wanted to say something but refrained. Boundaires were being set right now as they gauged Rose's character. Nobody would say anything, not right now. She could work with that, see how much leeway she had.

"I like you," Paul said, smirking. "I take back what I said. You're pretty alright."

"Thanks, then," Rose replied, returning Paul's grin.

"Paul, _gdye babushka_?" Olena asked, setting plates of open-faced sandwiches down on the table.

"Grandmother escaped out the back door. Went to Vladimir's. _Business_ ," he whispered, like the woman was off having some scandalous affair. "She told me not to ask questions but to let you all know."

Olena narrowed her eyes. " _Zmey_ isn't back in town, is he?"

Paul shrugged. "She told me not to ask questions, so I don't know."

She shot a look at Sydney and then shook her head. "I don't like that man wandering around town, especially with these two here."

Apparently Serena, standing along the wall behind Sydney, was only visible to Rose.

"I can handle myself," Sydney said, silent up until that point.

"I know you can, _dochka_ , I just like it better when he isn't here." Olena returned with a giant pot of soup as Sonya ushered the girls to the table and Aleks started getting Alexei to clean up his mess of papers and crayons.

Paul shrugged again and folded his arms down on the table, resting his head on top of them like he was back in bed, something Rose very much wanted to do herself. She refrained if only out of politeness.

"Who's _Zmey_?" Rose asked, rolling the word uncertainly off her tongue.

"He's a businessman," Aleks explained. "Middle Eastern, I think? But when I say 'business' . . ."

"Like the mafia?" Rose joked and to her surprise Aleks didn't seem too off-put by the idea.

"Maybe. Who knows?" He shrugged. "Nobody knows what he does, just that he comes into town for a few months, spends a lot of time whispering with the old woman, Yeva, and then leaves for a little while. He's not here for, well . . ." Aleks trailed off, sharing a weighted look with Karolina.

Rose could guess what he was hinting at. "Then what is he here for?"

"We don't know," Karolina said, eyes flicking across the girls and Alexei. "He's been in and out of town since the late eighties. Babushka insists he's important to the family, but she won't say for what or why. All we know is that we'll find out when the time comes. It's the way her dreams work." Her words sounded like an echo, like she'd heard them many times before.

The conversation abruptly shifted to a neighbor's dinner gathering the previous week at Olena's behest, leaving Rose with the distinct feeling they'd flirted with a tense subject. Later, she decided, once she knew them better. If there was one thing she was good at, it was being a nosy little shit, just as Christian had told her many times over, and the idea of a mysterious mobster type floating around Baia, especially with a supposed underground blood whore culture . . . well, that was simply too tempting a rabbit hole not to follow down.


	3. Chapter Three

It rained a lot the first week. The day after they arrived, it poured for hours on end. Olena had taken one look at Rose's lack of rain boots — there'd been uproarious laughter when Rose admitted to preparing for Arctic tundra and nothing else — and had sent her, Sydney, and Karolina into town to get a pair during what little sunshine the weather offered that afternoon. Serena had lasted all of a day before deciding Sydney wasn't a flight risk, electing to stay in a tiny bed and breakfast a few streets away and checking in twice a day to make sure Sydney was still in Baia. Sydney had simply rolled her eyes and muttered something unfavorable about her father still causing her headaches under her breath.

Most days, it rained in the late mornings, keeping Rose and Sydney indoors with the family through lunch; in the afternoons, the pair would trek out into town on foot where Sydney would point out the essentials — stores, restaurants, the lone gas station, the pharmacy where Sonya worked — so Rose could map it out in her head and give her a little bit of independence. The last thing she wanted was to make the Belikova women adjust their lives for her because she couldn't remember how to get to the grocery store.

Walking seemed to be the primary mode of transportation for the family. There was one car for the lot of them and Sonya was the primary driver — her job took her the farthest from the house, all the across town. Everyone else, including the children, walked, though Olena had made it very clear that once the weather got cold, there'd be a lot more carpooling to school and work.

Not once did Rose see any hint of any secret underground dhampir world, nor were there the stereotypes she'd grown up hearing about, desperate dhampir women in flashy outfits and gaudy makeup looking to get a fix on every street corner. It'd only been a week, though, and she came to the conclusions she wasn't looking hard enough or in the wrong places. She began to gain an appreciation for why Lissa sent her for a year instead of only a couple of months — answers weren't going to come immediately, and any time dinner conversation skirted around something potentially taboo, someone was quick to change the subject.

It took three days for Rose to finally meet the much spoken of but ever aloof Yeva Belikova, though Rose was sure that she must've just looked straight over the woman's head when Rose saw how short she was. Yeva was barely five feet and thin enough to worry Rose on multiple levels. Upon greeting, Yeva had made sure Rose knew she was seventy-two (" _ne zabudte yego rebyonok_ " — "don't forget it, child") and that she'd spent the first ten years after graduation serving as a guardian before settling down to have children.

Her eyes seemed to bore into Rose's soul and then straight through. She was the first person in the family Rose had a hard time making eye contact with, but she did her best because Yeva seemed to respond better to those who did. Sydney joked it was like living with Baba Yaga, the little old witch in Russian folk tales who lived in a hut stilted on chicken legs, traveling through the woods to eat children who misbehaved.

Despite their first conversation, Yeva had a habit of pretending she didn't know English whenever Rose was in the room, which frustrated Rose to no end given. Rose was picking up more of the language every day, faster than she'd initially thought she would, and knew very well what Yeva was saying about the _boltlivaya amerikanka i yeye alkhimik_ — the overly talkative American and her Alchemist. Nobody else seemed to give Yeva's insults much weight and the only thing holding Rose back was her lack of confidence in speaking Russian aloud to anyone not Sydney.

She'd been given Dimitri's room by an apologetic Olena after an explanation of who slept where — Yeva was with her, Olena, in the ground floor bedroom; Karolina, Alex, and Sonya to one room; Zoya, and Katya to another; Paul and Alexei to a third; Viktoria slept on an air mattress in her sisters' room, though sometimes she'd sleep on the boys' floor if Alexei was having a bad night; and Dimitri's stayed untouched for whenever he came home.

Rose made the mistake of asking why they left his room alone during dinner one night. From what Rose could gather, things had been just fine back when everyone was able to have their own bedroom, but then Karolina had gotten pregnant and it'd been cramped ever since. Still, it was a touchy subject, and the ensuing fight ended with Sonya storming out and Zoya in tears, worried she'd have to give up her room and sleep outside. Olena huffily declared them all spoiled with a stern reminder that there'd been a time, not too long ago, when _she_ had lived in a one-room apartment with her three siblings, mother, an aunt, and a handful of cousins out in Novosibirsk so they all better be glad they had a house, let alone one as big as the house they were currently living in. Yeva simply sat there, glaring at everyone into apologizing.

Dimitri's room hadn't been entirely left to mausoleum status — someone, probably his mother, had cleared out the closet and dresser drawers for Rose to put her own things away and Sydney, too, if she wanted for the short time she was there. Sydney, for her part, had declined, and was somehow producing wrinkle-free clothing from the suitcase she was living out of despite Rose never seeing the other girl take an iron to her clothes.

It amused Rose greatly to lie in bed at night and try to picture the legend she'd heard so much about as a man who came home to his family on work breaks. The walls were covered in dark blue wallpaper but otherwise bare, save for the window opposite the door and a John Wayne poster on the wall next to Rose's side of the bed. A hockey puck with a silver signature scrawled across the top was propped up against one of the many framed photos of his family and what Rose assumed were friends scattered across the top of the dresser. Of the latter, all were guardians with two notable exceptions — in a couple photos Rose recognized Christian's aunt, Tasha, making her wonder what the connection was; in another, Dimitri and a blond, male Moroi had their arms slung around each other's shoulders, though it was kind of awkward with Dimitri still significantly taller than the other. It was that photo Sonya caught Rose staring at one morning after breakfast.

"That was his charge, Ivan," Sonya said, causing Rose to jump a foot in the air. Sonya had been dead silent coming up the stairs, or maybe Rose had simply been too deep in thought. She wasn't sure.

Rose put a hand against her chest as her heart calmed from the startle, and she took a deep breath, looking back at the photo. She needed to get a grip. It wasn't like it was a crime to look at photos that were sitting out for anyone to see. "I thought it might've been."

Sonya leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over her chest. "We were wondering if you guys heard about that in America."

Rose nodded. "I was in my senior year when it happened. We were all shocked. It—" And she had no idea why she was admitting this to the man's sister but it felt right for the conversation, "—It was what pushed me to do better that year, try to end on a high note. If even the best of the best could lose a charge, then I had to do all I could to get the most out of my training, if only for Lissa's sake."

"That's an interesting interpretation," Sonya said, studying Rose carefully, who suddenly felt like she'd insulted Dimitri and his entire family. She flushed involuntarily. With a laugh, Sonya added, "Stop, Rose, you're fine. You're allowed to say what you think. We value honesty over tact around here."

Rose could only nod, her attention drawn back to the photo, her fingers tracing the thin wooden frame. Dimitri looked young but eager, like someone who had no idea what kind of journey they were about to embark on. Had they gone to school together, he looked like the kind of guy Rose would've secretly crushed on from afar in math class.

"Ivan was his closest friend," Sonya explained, entering the room and coming closer to Rose. "Well, as close as Dimka lets anyone get. He's always been the quiet, aloof type. Anyway, when they graduated, Ivan requested him as his guardian, despite all the much more attractive offers Dimka was getting. Queen Tatiana, God rest her soul, even offered him a position within her personal guardians, but he turned her down."

"He _what_?" Rose squeaked. Guarding the Queen was arguably the highest a guardian could go, save ranking as a captain at Court or an academy.

Sonya's smile was bemused. "He wanted to guard Ivan. They'd promised each other, and my brother has never not honored a promise he's made." The smile faded, a look of lingering memories suddenly weighing her down. "He took Ivan's death pretty badly. He only just got back to work when he started at St. Basil's this school year. It took him a little while to find his way again."

There was more to the story and Rose itched to hear it — the amount to which she could relate and sympathize was unlike anything she'd experienced before. Part of her just wanted to listen to stories about Dimitri all day, this enigmatic, gorgeous man who was loved so deeply by his family. She soaked up whatever information she could whenever someone spoke about him, an unconscious decision she wasn't altogether aware of yet.

"That was the day they graduated from the academy," Sonya explained, dragging Rose back to reality.

"He looks happy," Rose said, unable to find the words for anything else. _Happy_ seemed so underwhelming a term.

"He was," Sonya said softly, her voice tinged with sadness. "Now . . . not so much. But back then, yes, he was, very much so." She seemed to be lost in a memory and Rose let her come back on her own time a few moments later. "Anyway, Mamochka wanted me to let you know that you should stick around for _uzhin_ tonight."

"Like I'm going anywhere else for dinner," Rose joked but the force behind her words was lost on a photo of two best friends caught in a moment of pure, untouched excitement.

* * *

(Dinner that night had been the adults rather cautiously asking Rose if she'd be up for teaching the young ones some basic English since she was available with the added bonus of being American and thus far more likely to get their attention than the three parents trying to do it themselves. Rose agreed, just as carefully, not sure how she was going to do it but willing to do as much as she could to help ease communication between herself and a handful of small children. Satisfied that their children would be getting the foundations of English from an American, Karolina and Sonya had then let the conversation shift to planning the logistics of Sydney getting back to Omsk to start her trip home.)

* * *

"You'll be alright," Sydney said on her final night in Baia, lying next to Rose in bed. It was raining outside again, though Rose could've sworn up and down that there was snow mixed in.

"What do you mean?" Rose asked, tearing her gaze from the window.

"You'll get homesick after I leave, I'm sure, but you'll be fine out here." Sydney rolled onto her side to look at Rose. "You seem pretty at home with them already."

Rose was about to argue she wasn't when it occurred to her that she actually was comfortable with the Belikovs in a way she hadn't expected to feel so soon. Sydney took her silence as confirmation.

"You know I'm just a Skype call away if you need anything or even just to talk, right? Me, Adrian, Lissa — we're here for you."

"Yeah, I know," Rose whispered, eyes briefly sliding shut when Sydney reached over to brush a stray lock of hair out of her face.

"Speaking of, how _is_ Lissa?" Sydney asked softly.

For the moment, the bond was quieter than the usual medication-induced dullness, and Rose was grateful for that. It meant she'd get some quality sleep tonight.

"Right now, she's sleeping." Silence. "It's weird, being so far away from her. Like, logically, I know I'm on the other side of the world from her, but because I can sit through every Council meeting she does . . . it's like I'm not totally gone. Like how she and Christian had Adrian and Jill over for dinner last night, and it was like I was there when I peeked inside, even though I know I wasn't. If that makes any sense."

"There's no full separation," Sydney summarized.

"Exactly."

"Jill's told Adrian something similar a couple of times. Obviously, the distance has never been this large, but I'm sure the same theory applies."

"I'm going to miss your brainy talk."

Sydney snorted and turned onto her back, signaling the end of the conversation. "Do me one favor, Rose."

"Anything."

"This is going to sound weird, but I refuse to believe it without hard proof. . . . I've seen his file, so if you could touch Dimitri's hair to make sure it's real . . ."

"Anything for you, Syd," Rose said completely seriously and a beat later both women dissolved into laughter.

"You don't have to," Sydney said, catching her breath. "I just think it looks like it'd be nice to run your fingers through. Adrian's considering growing his hair out a little, but I'm not sure he'll look good with it long."

Rose wrinkled her nose. "Do you think he'd end up looking like a stoner? I feel like he would."

They didn't get to sleep for another two hours.

* * *

Three days after Sydney left, Olena finally kicked Rose out of the house.

"Alex, take Rose on your errands today," she said after breakfast finished. Karolina had already disappeared to get ready for work, and Sonya was wrangling three children into coats and boots to start the daily walk to school — first year for Zoya, daycare for the other two. Alex was washing the dishes that Rose had been clearing off the table.

" _Da_?" He looked to Rose, who set the last stack of dishes on the counter and shrugged. _Yeah?_

"Sure," she said as she grabbed a dishtowel and moved to drying duty.

Olena was pleased. "Good. You need some air." And then she stood from the table and left to go track down Yeva to coordinate a potluck at a friend's house later in the week.

"She thinks fresh air cures everything, including the homesickness," Alex explained.

Rose nodded. "Makes sense." She took a bowl from him and started toweling it dry. "Where are you going?"

"Butcher, grocer, bank, Kalya at work, a friend's house, not in that order. The meat will spoil if we take it to Mark's house," he joked.

Laughing because it seemed appropriate, Rose asked, "Who's Mark?"

"Family friend. You'll like him. His wife, too, I would imagine."

* * *

Mark turned out to be a guardian who lived on the edge of town with his Moroi wife, Oksana, though Alex didn't explicitly say as much on the walk over. The couple's house was an hour's walk; according to Alex, it sat near one of the lakes on the edge of town and Mark had fenced off a portion of the backyard for a garden, a hefty task given how temperamental the soil could be.

"Is Mark retired?" Rose asked when they were nearly there. The ground was soft under her boots, the last remnants of a light snow the other night. It wasn't the poorest part of Baia — that was a different neighborhood in a different direction, Alex explained — but there was a marked difference from the Belikov's section. The houses were only one story and generally on the smaller side. The roads were strictly dirt and mud. What few fences did exist were dilapidated, paint peeling and materials clearly aging.

"Kind of," Alex said, hands stuffed in his jacket pockets. "He's Oksana's guardian officially, but given how rare attacks are in Baia, it's not really a job."

The sky was cloudless and the sun was warm despite how drastically south the temperatures headed in recent days. Rose had started running every other morning to stave off all the bread Olena never stopped baking, and she'd been forced to change up her running gear so she didn't freeze in the early hours.

It was almost Halloween, and the rain had made its mid-month switch to snow. When she'd seen the first snowfall of the season, Yeva had turned from the window with a triumphant smile on her face and declared it would be a normal winter before giving Rose an incalculable look that seemed to contrast her words.

"He still gets a salary, I think. I don't know what he's planning on doing about retirement." The pair turned left down a road leading towards the lake. Rose could pull the faint scent of water off the air.

"Why, is he getting near retirement age?" Rose asked.

Alex grinned. Rose could see where the road ahead split off in a T. "He's graying. The men usually come home when they lose the hair color."

"Can I ask why you're not off fighting the great fight?" Rose asked on an impulse, half joking.

His grin faded a bit as they turned left again. "I'm in between assignments," he said evasively. Then: "Trust me, the old woman lets me hear about it at least once a week. Kalya likes having me around, but even she agrees that it's time to get back in the game, as you Americans might say."

"How long have you been in between assignments?"

"Long enough," Alex said and dropped the topic when he turned right onto a short path up to the front door of a white house. He knocked; there was some rustling on the other side of the door, a moment of silence, and then a woman, probably in her thirties, opened the door, a smile on her face.

"Come in," she said in English after her eyes landed on Rose. "Please."

There was an exchange of shoes and then Oksana was leading the two of them through a tiny living room into an equally tiny kitchen. A table big enough for four was pushed up against the wall opposite the refrigerator and oven in an effort to maximize what little space existed. Rose hadn't been seated for more than twenty seconds before a shot of clear liquid landed in front of her. There was one in front of Alex as well; Oksana topped her glass off and set the bottle of vodka down in the middle of the table.

"It's customary," Alex explained when he caught sight of Rose's dubious expression, holding his shot glass up to his mouth.

Oksana mumbled something under her breath in Russian, and she and Alex giggled over a joke whose translation went straight over Rose's head. They threw back the vodka and Rose suddenly felt self-conscious, fingers tentatively resting on the glass. _This won't be so bad_ , she told herself, looking at Alex and Oksana waiting on her.

She tipped the glass back, expecting the familiar burn of something like Smirnoff or Grey Goose, and nearly spit the venom in her mouth all over the wood table. Forcing herself to swallow, she shuddered, making a face as the liquid trekked fire down her throat and into chest. "The hell is that?" Her tongue hung out of her mouth like a panting dog. "Blegh. That tastes like freaking rocket fuel or something. God."

"That's what vodka's supposed to taste like," Oksana said with a wry smile. "I've been to America, just once. It was long enough to know your vodka is a third of the quality for three times the price. And not all of it is potato, which I've never understood."

The burn still lingered. "Can I have some water? I'm not trying to be rude, I'm just not—" She made the mistake of licking her lips and shuddered again at the taste. A tickle ran across Rose's brain, an itch she couldn't quite scratch.

Oksana laughed light-heartedly and stood to get Rose a glass of water. "Did Yeva send you, Alex?"

"For one thing, yeah. Olena also has a question. Where's Mark?"

"In the garden," Oksana replied. To Rose she said, "Toilet's down the hall to the left."

Rose started. "How did you—?" When Oksana just smiled, Rose stood slowly, narrowing her eyes. There was something about the air around Oksana, like she was just so charming—

Spirit user. Weird abilities usually meant that. For a moment, Rose cheered internally. Lissa would be excited to know there was another Moroi wielding spirit.

"Thanks," Rose said, trying to digest this new piece of information. "I'll just be a moment."

"A moment" was actually five minutes of hurriedly typing notes on her phone about her conversation with Alex and the first few minutes of being in Oksana's house. At this point in the game, anything about dhampir culture was relevant. She flushed the toilet to cover her actions and when she rejoined the group at the table, vodka loosening and warming her limbs, Mark had come in from the back and was washing dirt off his hands in the sink.

"You must be Rose Hathaway," he said, his accent less pronounced than anyone Rose had met so far. He smiled, lines crinkling around his eyes, and he dried his hands before holding one out for Rose to shake. "It certainly is a pleasure."

Rose's eyebrows raised as she sat down. "It is?"

"Your reputation proceeds you, I'm afraid," Mark said, running his hands through his gray hair, shaking the short strands out. "Not many people can get their teenage friend elected Queen and fly under the radar at the same time."

"Well, you know." Rose shrugged and grinned. "A lot of work went into that, so I'm glad it's getting some recognition."

Mark laughed.

"What does Yeva want?" Oksana asked Alex, gently shifting the conversation.

Alex, for some reason, slipped into Russian to answer her. Rose managed to catch the words for "business" and "more time" and Zmey's name cropped up more than Rose would've liked in the span of three sentences, but he spoke too fast for her to really comprehend what he was saying.

Whatever he said, it made Oksana shake her head. She, at least, kept to English. "I don't understand why she keeps that man around. She's not getting anything useful out of it."

"From what Kalya and I can tell, it's more for financial reasons than anything else," Alex replied in English and Rose watched his eyes flick for the briefest of moments to Mark's neck. The skin was clear and unmarked. "I've been told she had one of her dreams a long time ago, when they were all kids, about some rich, foreign man who would be important to the family. When Zmey landed on her doorstep, she declared he was the man from her dream. I think Olena was the one to start calling him 'Zmey'. She was certainly spooked by him the first few times he came around. Still kind of is."

"'One of her dreams'?" Rose echoed, confused.

"Yeva Nikolaevna is . . . well, the closest word in English is 'witch'," Mark explained, leaning against the counter and arms crossed over his chest. "But it's not quite accurate. I met Yeva when my mother went to her for a tarot reading when she and I were living in the city. She has dreams that she claims usually come true." His head tilted away from Rose though he kept his gaze on her. "I'm surprised you don't know."

"I know she's freaky as hell," Rose said without thinking, but it made the other three chuckle.

"You'll hear about one of her dreams soon enough," Alex said. "You can't not hear about it when she has one. She can do some other things, but the dreams are a big deal."

"Ooh, I can't wait." Rose mocked excitement before growing serious again. "I figured Zmey was a nickname; what's his real name?"

Alex looked to Oksana and Mark, and all three shrugged. Mark drew a hand down his face wearily. "Abe?" The name rolled off weirdly and he paused. "I think it's Abe. I'm not sure. He never gave a last name." He gave Rose a serious look. "Don't go try looking him up. When he wants to be found, he'll be found."

"I wasn't going to," Rose said, lying straight through her teeth.

Mark looked at her like he knew exactly what she was thinking. Oksana, apparently gifted with some kind of mind-reading ability, shot Mark a glare, who in turn grinned and shook his head.

"You have a bond," Rose said aloud, finally figuring it out.

Mark turned his grin towards her. "We were curious to see how long it took you to figure it out.

"Your ability, Oksana—"

The woman shifted in her wooden, straight-backed chair. "I can brush minds, but it's not as if I can fully read them. I can only get your loudest thought in a moment. I can't see everything you're thinking."

Rose nodded. "Yeah, it threw me. You guys—" She gestured between the couple. "It's almost like a two way bond."

"A little, yes," Oksana agreed. She glanced at the clock above the table and jumped up, collecting the glasses. "I hate to end this conversation so soon, but I'm afraid Mark and I must be going. We're having lunch with the Chesnokovs, and I know this can't be the only errand Olena has you completing today, Alex—" Alex nodded throughout all of it, like he knew exactly who and what she was talking about. "—And Rose, you must come back. Soon. I'm sure you're eager to speak with Mark about the bond. We may not . . ." Oksana glanced at Mark, as if asking permission. He nodded once.

"We may not be living fully in Moroi society," Oksana said carefully. "But we do want the best for our Queen. I'm sure there's plenty you and she don't yet know."

"Yeah, I'm sure, too," Rose agreed, watching the couple through new eyes.

At the door, after exchanging goodbyes, Oksana put a hand on Alex' shoulder. "I almost forgot — what does Olena want?"

Alex threw Rose a glance and then, to Oksana: "Dimitri's turning thirty this year, so Olena's insisting on a party. It might be painful — the man will complain the entire time and probably already has been since she told him — but she's going through with it. She's extending an invitation to you both, especially since Mark is his godfather."

"We'll be there." Oksana looked flattered even though Rose would argue the woman had no reason to be with such a close connection to the family. "When will it be?"

"December, when he and Viktoria are home from the academy," Alex said. "Olena wants as much time as possible to invite literally everyone she knows."

"Good. Let me know when Olena settles on a date." Oksana smiled, soft with memory, and she leaned her hip against the doorjamb. "I remember when he started at St. Basil's. Olena asked me to look after him on the bus to school since she knew Karolina was seven and far more interested in friends. Mikhail Gorbachev was still General Secretary at the time." She sighed, wistful. "It feels like a lifetime ago. I can't believe we're in our thirties now."

Alex shook his head. "Neither can I."

Oksana was silent another moment and then pushed up to stand straight. "I need to get ready. I'll see you soon, Alex. It was a pleasure to finally meet you, Rose."

Rose held up a hand in a wave and turned down the path with Alex as Oksana shut the door. "How old are you guys?"

"Oksana and I are thirty-five," Alex said, stuffing his hands in his jacket pockets and hunching his shoulders against the oh so threatening flurries that had started. "Kalya's thirty-two. You can't be much older than, what, twenty-five, twenty-six?"

"Twenty-two, actually," Rose said, looking down and kicking a rock out of the street. It'd been helpful to always be pegged as older back in school to avoid getting carded; now it was just annoying.

"Seriously? When's your next birthday?"

"March. Near Easter. Why, did you guys not get a packet of info on me like I did on you?"

Alex shook his head. "If we did, I never saw it. Olena and the old woman just told us that the famous Rose Hathaway was on assignment from the Queen and would be living with us for a while."

Rose made a noise of acknowledgment and the pair were silent as they trekked back into town. "Speaking of age . . . can I ask why Viktoria, a twenty-one-year-old woman, is in school, unlike the people living in the house who are actually, you know, _school aged_?"

That made Alex laugh heartily. "Paul's currently on suspension. Too many fights outside the gym. This isn't the first time he's been suspended, either. Zoya was supposed to start this year but she won't go if Paul isn't going, and it's making Kalya crazy. We don't send the kids off to school until their first year. I know Kalya and her siblings were at home during the day when they were small, but with everyone working and Olena feeling her age . . . there's a woman who runs like a daycare?" Rose nodded that the word was right. "So Zoya does first year at the local school and Katya and Alexei go to the woman's house for daycare. We pay her a monthly fee and it's not cheap, which is why I picked up bartending on the weekends."

"So that's where you've been going Friday and Saturday nights," Rose surmised. "Where at?"

"A club," Alex said and when Rose pressed for more, he remained tight-lipped.

* * *

" _Spasibo_ , Sasha," Karolina said, taking the bag of food Alex had put together out of various purchases from the butcher and grocer, and kissed him on the cheek. " _Tiy tozhe_ , Rose." _You too, Rose._

"You're welcome," Rose replied, half a beat behind on reciprocating Karolina's cheek kiss. She pulled away, surveying her latest location. She'd learned early on that Karolina was a waitress, and the lunch rush was in full swing. "Do you need to get back to work?"

Karolina waved her off. "I've got a quick break, and you two are more interesting than Vadim's shouting at the grill." A tub of flatware in the back fell, causing Karolina to look back to the kitchen for a moment. "A lot more interesting." To Alex with a twinkle in her eye, she asked: "Are Mark and Oksana coming to Dimka's party?"

Rose tuned out of the conversation despite Karolina's best efforts to keep her engaged. Looking around the restaurant, she realized she hadn't in a couple of hours and suddenly, her stomach felt like it was about to eat itself. When she focused back in, Alex had slipped into Russian.

"Awesome," Karolina said in response to whatever he'd been telling her when she caught sight of Rose's regained attention. The slang was awkward, like she'd heard it on an American TV show and hadn't used it all that much but was nevertheless trying to fit in. She pulled her phone out of her apron pocket and glanced at the time. "I have to go if I want time to actually eat. Thanks for this, _lyubvi_."

"Love you, too," Alex replied and Rose turned her head for a brief moment while the pair exchanged a kiss. To the perpetually single, there was something depressing about an act so blatantly chaste and sweet. "Rose? We're done for the day. I'm off to go meet my boss for a quick meet-up, but you're free to go home, if you want."

His tone left no room for arguing; he didn't want her to come with him for some undisclosed reason. Well then. She could take a hint.

"Yeah, I think I know the way," she said. "Left on Nevskaya, right on Polovka?"

"Left on Nevskaya, right on Stepnaya."

Outside, the sun was peeking through the ubiquitous thin gray clouds, but it did little to ward off the chill seeping in through Rose's coat. She wrapped her arms tight around herself, took the correct left, and started plotting a lunch of soup and tea and whatever else that wasn't vodka but would warm her up.

When she made the right on Polovka Street, Rose was hit with the distinct feeling that she was being followed.


	4. Chapter Four

Her shoulders went taught with suspicion. It wouldn't be a Strigoi — it was midday, the sun trying to break through the clouds — so whoever it was must've had some kind of personal interest in her for reasons yet unknown.

She checked her peripherals and did as subtle a vision sweep as she could manage without turning her head. Nothing seemingly out of the ordinary. She stopped in her tracks and stooped down, pretending to adjust the zippers on her shoes to surreptitiously check behind her. No one there either. Whoever it was knew what they were doing. Hired help or a guardian, she guessed, neither of which made sense. Anyone who knew she was here had to know it was on official Royal business. Undisclosed and classified business, too. She wasn't to be disturbed, and any contact she had with her superiors back home was through email.

Undeterred, she stood and kept walking . . . and walked straight into someone, who _tsk_ ed and shook his head at the contact, an unsettling smile on his face.

"If that's how they're training guardians these days, I want my money back."

Rose took a step back, defenses on high alert now, and noticed a guardian across the street. Damn. Living at Court had made her soft. Skills at that low of a level would be certain to keep stalling her placement with Lissa.

The man before her was Moroi and older, probably somewhere in his early forties. His skin was unusual for a Moroi — off-color, like someone with a dark tan was fighting an intense illness. The deep green suit under his charcoal grey coat was far too flashy for the streets of Baia and Rose, half expecting he had a gold tooth cap to match his gold hoop earrings, was disappointed he didn't. He loosened his scarf — green and gray and just as ridiculous — and grinned. He looked like a mobster who'd just gone through a rainbow candy maker at Willy Wonka's factory.

"You might break the record for the longest amount of time a woman has stared at me," he said, still grinning.

And also definitely a creep. She wasn't about to engage with him, she decided, and wordlessly pushed past him to continue walking down the street, stopping when he called out her name.

"I've been waiting for you, Rose."

She slowly wheeled around on her heel, eyebrows raised, and approached him, stopping about a few feet away. In her peripherals, she saw at least three more guardians milling about. How special was this guy?

Suddenly, between the clothes and the accent and the general weird vibe he gave off, it clicked. "Are you Zmey?"

He looked offended, though the emotion didn't go very deep. "If that's what they're calling me these days, I'll take it. . . . I prefer Abe."

"How do you know my name?" she asked, not bothering to give into his banter, as much as her blood sang for it.

"A wild American girl, responsible for the imprisonment, jailbreak, and death of Victor Dashkov, semi-responsible for the death of Queen Tatiana Ivashkov — God rest her soul — and the only one to come close to breaking the record for the highest trial score posted by a novice since Dimitri Belikov, lands in quiet, little Baia for reasons nobody seems willing to share. Call me Cheshire because I'm a bit curious."

"You can stay curious," Rose snapped, done with the theatrics. Being reminded of her eventful senior year of high school was a surefire way of shutting her down. She turned to restart her walk home.

"I'm protective of this town and its people," Abe said, catching up to her in a few long strides. "So when a stranger lands here with a return ticket dated next year, I make it a priority to find out who she is and what she's up to."

"Go ask the Queen," Rose said briskly. She looked at him sideways. The four guardians were also following them, though farther back, like they trusted Rose in case a Strigoi had figured out how to circumvent the sunlight and popped out from behind a bush. "And in any event, I've been here almost three weeks and you're just now talking to me. Doesn't make it seem like I'm much of a priority."

"I'll talk to you when I want to talk to you, little girl," Abe said tightly, stepping in front of Rose and making her stop short.

"If that's the case, _old man_ ," Rose said, unable to help herself. Something about him made her revert to her sarcastic, irritated fifteen-year-old self. "I'll give you my phone number. Call me whenever you want. Right now, though, I want to get out of the cold and not talk to you."

A buzz went off, and Abe reached into his coat pocket, pulling out his phone with a quick glance. His face shifted at whatever the notification was, and Rose had to bite her tongue to keep from asking what could possibly spook Al Capone himself. He frowned and slid the phone back into his pocket.

"I have some other business to attend to." He flashed her a smile before stepping away. "We'll talk later."

"No, we won't," Rose muttered, stalking ahead and completely ignoring the way he watched her until she turned onto the Belikovs' street.

* * *

Later, when the family found out Rose was unsettled because of her run in with Zmey, she got a lot of shoulder squeezes and reminders to be careful.

Yeva, though, just looked weirdly excited, and Rose made sure she acted like she didn't hear a word when the woman whispered to Olena at dinner about _big changes coming for the American_.

* * *

Abe left town a few days after he introduced himself to Rose, Yeva reported to them at dinner one night, and Zoya burst the happy bubble of relief by launching into a detailed explanation of what Halloween was and why they had to celebrate it for the fifth night in a row. Her closing argument finished with _Viktor's family is doing it so why can't we?_ and the adults wrote it off as antics because of her crush on the boy. After dinner, Rose, in a rare display of ease with small children, promised Zoya she'd get some candy for the girl and they could make costumes out of whatever they could find in the house.

October faded into November and with it went the sun. By Unity Day, not even a week into the month, the sun was noticeably absent, rising late and setting early and generally covered by clouds. While watching Putin address the country on television with the family crowded into one room — which was weird in and of itself, being so involved with human politics, let alone non-American politics — Rose asked, to no one in particular, why the world had gone so anti-sun all of a sudden. Zoya had been the first to answer, fingers clumsily trying to braid Rose's thick hair now that Rose had finally relented to the girl and her ever-present hairbrush, and she threw a fit when her answer of _Mama says it's because Uncle Dimka's coming home soon_ was met with shock and unhappiness. Karolina, flushed with embarrassment, sent Zoya up to her room for the inappropriate comment.

And things hummed along. Olena pulled Rose into the kitchen around the middle of the month to teach her how to make _medovik_ , a honey cake that Aleks loved, for his Name Day. Since so few of them actually had Name Days to celebrate, Olena explained as Rose crushed scraps of cooked dough with the back of a knife, they usually just made a cake and that was the end of it. Birthdays were the big celebration in their family.

("Does Dimitri have a Name Day?" "Yes, at the end of October, but we don't celebrate it if he isn't here.")

Dimitri's actual birthday passed by without much fanfare. Rose was sure every _kopeck_ Karolina made at the restaurant that month went to the four hours his family spent on the phone talking to him, the only sign that the twenty-sixth was any different than the day before, and she watched them from the couch with amusement, ignoring how she reread the same page twelve times because she was trying to figure out if she could hear his voice through the phone.

("I'm just curious," she told Sydney over the phone later that day. It was Thanksgiving back in the States. Sydney merely replied with an amused, "Uh huh, sure, Rose.")

She wasn't sure what possessed her to do it, but in the middle of listening to Olena and her daughters discuss tentative holiday plans during lunch one weekend, she pulled out her phone and set a reminder for the twentieth, when Dimitri and Viktoria were scheduled to come home for their nearly month long break.

Before she knew it, December and the good, thick winter snow had descended upon them.

* * *

She couldn't sleep. Snow softly pelted the window, almost loud enough for Rose's dhampir ears to pick up on. The blankets on her bed were a haphazard mess, most of them kicked off. A few weeks ago, she'd helped Sonya pull out the winter blankets. Sonya had given her first choice as thanks for helping her, something she was now extremely grateful for; much to Sonya's amusement, Rose had taken six blankets to add to the quilt she'd been sleeping under since October, citing the house getting exceptionally chilly at night as her reasoning. She'd also taken to wearing sweatpants, two pairs of thick socks, and three long-sleeved shirts to bed, a non-stop source of entertainment for everyone in the house.

Frustrated and feeling insomniatic, Rose decided facing the cold was worth the tea she knew was downstairs in the kitchen. She slipped out from underneath the tangle of blankets, quickly shoved her feet into her _tapochki_ , and silently eased out of the room. Getting down the stairs and avoiding the creaky steps was a bit harder, so she bore most of her weight on the handrails. It'd be rude to wake others up just because she was too wound up for reasons she couldn't name.

The kitchen was barely illuminated by the cloud-covered moon, making it impossible to find the tea, but after several minutes of quiet, fruitless searching, she found a large box of hot chocolate mix. As quietly as she could, she pulled out a packet of the mix and mug from the cabinet and reached for the portable plastic water heater. She winced when she flipped the faucet on; in the sleeping house, it was lawnmower loud. At halfway filled, she deemed it good enough, and set the pitcher on its base and plugged it in.

She was about to flip it on when she heard a thump outside. Cursing herself for not bringing her stake — Strigoi attacks in towns like Baia weren't common, but they weren't rare, either — she reached for one of the knives sitting in a block on the counter, hoping a slash to the face would buy her enough time to run upstairs. Mentally, she started preparing for the worst.

The front door opened with a soft click and Rose stopped in the kitchen entrance, confused. Strigoi didn't usually care about trying to be quiet. They had bigger things in mind, like snapping necks and feeding on everyone's blood.

When a large, looming shadow signaled someone was about to enter the kitchen, she leapt out in an offensive maneuver she hadn't used in months — and it showed, because she was stopped short by big, strong hands and a soft grunt. She vaguely noticed one of her slipper flew off her foot into the living room across the hall with the kick. The person she'd almost attacked, though, held far more of her attention.

"You must be Rose Hathaway," a low, thick accent murmured, and Rose realized this stranger was holding her balance pretty well, gripping her wrist and calf in a way that said they didn't want to hurt her but they weren't about to let her get the better of them.

"A lot of people around here keep saying that," she whispered back gruffly, pushing her hair out of her eyes.

"Around here, you're almost as much of a celebrity as me," the person said said. In the low light, she could make out it was a guy talking, and she finally put two and two together.

"You must be Dimitri Belikov," she said.

"See?" he said. "Now we're even." He shifted her ankle up onto his shoulder, and with his free hand, he reached to flick the kitchen light on.

If he hadn't been holding her up, her knees would've given out. What few pictures she'd seen of him didn't do him any justice. She hated the phrase _tall, dark, and handsome_ but in person, Dimitri Belikov wore it really damn well. He grinned when he saw the knife in Rose's hand aimed for his throat. "Though I don't think my mother would appreciate it if you damaged her knife _or_ her son."

"My stake's upstairs."

"Rookie mistake."

"Can I have my leg back?"

That seemed to snap him out of it. "Yeah, sure." He dropped her leg and wrist, and she could feel the overextension in her hamstring warning her of hurt to come in the morning. He caught sight of her midnight adventures on the counter. "Were you making that?"

"No, Santa was." Damn her sarcastic tendencies.

"You're doing it wrong."

"Really?"

"Really."

"Then show me how to make hot chocolate the right way, Grand Master of the Kitchen."

_There's the flirt monster that charmed every boy in school._

Dimitri snorted. "Don't let my mother hear you say that or I'll end up with kitchen duty on New Year's." His duffel slid off his shoulder and his two long strides across the kitchen dwarfed the decently sized room. He had to be at least six-six, Rose decided, watching him. Six-seven for sure. Maybe even six-eight, though that could be pushing it. Whatever. He was ridiculously tall and ridiculously hot and — no, she was not going down that road, she was here for purely objective observation. Getting involved with anyone past surface friendship was strictly forbidden. It would compromise her work.

But the idea of pushing him against the counter and sinking to her knees was certainly entertaining and not at all unwelcome despite how fast it appeared out of nowhere.

He pulled out a second packet from the box of mix she'd pulled from the cabinet and poured the water from the heater into the kettle sitting on the stove, topping it up in the sink. He reached for something in a different cabinet when the front door opened again; Rose turned to see a young woman about her age, long brown hair with the tips dyed in teal.

"Hi," she stage-whispered, setting her own duffel down on top of Dimitri's. "I'm Vika, but I figured you already guessed that."

"I'm Rose." Confusion rose up again, and she glanced at Dimitri. "I thought you guys weren't coming home for another few days?"

Viktoria blew her bangs off her forehead and kept her voice low. "They were worried about some threat against the school, so they sent everyone home a few days early. The kids who were gonna stay are being sent up to St. Catherine's, which is dumb, since Murmansk hasn't seen sunlight for weeks."

"They'll be fine," Dimitri murmured, eyes fixated on the kettle. Rose noticed his disposition had changed wildly when his sister walked in the room — gone was the lightheartedness she'd seen. Now there was a stoic, blank slate that betrayed nothing to her. "Nearly all of the guardians from St. Basil's are going with them to double up on security along with the standard influx of extra guardians St. Catherine's gets this time of year anyway."

Viktoria rolled her eyes, clearly unimpressed. "Anyway, we're here early because of that."

Silence fell. Rose, realizing she still had a knife in her hand, slipped it back into the block and leaned against the counter, just down the counter from Dimitri, who was focused intently on the kettle, pulling it off just as it began to whistle.

"I'm going to bed," Viktoria said abruptly, grabbing her duffel and disappearing into the living room. Dimitri watched her with a look Rose couldn't define.

"I was told my mother gave you my room," he said softly when he turned back to her, breaking off chunks of a chocolate bar and dropping them in the mug. "Do you like dark chocolate?"

"Love it," she said automatically. She was trying to ignore how there were only a few inches between them without much luck. He hadn't taken his coat off, and the melted snow had yet to evaporate. His hair was dry, though, and pulled back into a ponytail that looked slightly undone, as if he'd slid a hat off when he first came inside. "And yeah, she did. You can have it while you're here, though, I'm fine with bunking with the girls or something until—"

"No, you have it. You're our guest." He reached for the kettle and carefully poured the hot water over the chocolate, melting it in the process.

"It's your room. You live here. I'm not going to make you sleep on the floor like a dog," she argued, doing her best to whisper. She crossed her arms over her chest. Their earlier conversation had been fairly loud.

"Vika sleeps on the floor regularly. It's fine."

"Stop being ridiculous. Take it."

He shook the two packets together and ripped the tops off, pouring the powder in. "It seems we're at an impasse."

"Don't tell me you speak French, too."

"I tried." He gently pressed on her hip and she moved enough for him to grab a fork out of drawer she'd been leaning against. She slid back even closer unconsciously. He began stirring the mix in. "English was the only foreign language that stuck. You're getting off topic, by the way."

"Yeah, well, it's too distract you from how I'm not going back to bed in your room."

He sighed, but it was playful, like he didn't mind arguing with her. "Roza, please."

"Roza?"

"Your name. In Russian." His brow furrowed as he mixed. "Has no one called you that yet?"

"If they have, I haven't noticed," she admitted, "But I'm pretty sure you're the first."

He hummed. "Off topic again, I see." And he flashed her a grin before brushing past her to open the fridge. He pulled out a blue plastic tub, shaking his head at the sight inside. "If a Strigoi attacks the house anytime soon, we're all going to die because I've been fattened up by the two dozen cakes my mother is going to make for this ridiculous birthday party she's insisting on having."

"She's not making two dozen cakes," Rose argued despite not having any real basis for her position.

"You say that now," he said, tone lightheartedly dangerous. He tapped her hip again, and she moved again, and this time he pulled out a spoon. She was practically hip-to-ip with when she moved back, his arm brushing hers as he worked. "We still haven't settled this room problem of ours."

"I guess we'll have to share, then," she said without thinking.

He fixed her with an incalculable stare. She met his gaze and while it was probably only seconds, it felt like it lasted an hour. "I guess we will," he settled on. He picked up the kettle and seemed surprised by how much water was left; he set it back down so he could produce a second mug and two more powder mix packets. From the other cabinet he pulled out a different kind of chocolate, breaking off several sticks of it, and was just as careful about pouring the water in his own mug.

"How are you liking Baia?" he asked conversationally.

She unfolded her arms, letting herself enjoy the lack of personal space. Even with his multiple layers, she could feel warmth radiating off him. "It's quaint. It's a nice change, to be honest."

"You live at Court now?"

She nodded. "Lissa's there, so I'm there."

He paused in his stirring for a moment. "Forgive me, I forgot you're friends with the Queen."

"Best friends," Rose corrected.

"How long have you known her?" He resumed mixing.

"Since Kindergarten. We got paired up in a writing exercise. It didn't end well. Vasilisa Dragomir and Rosemarie Hathaway seemed like a lot of work to me at the time."

"And how does something like that not end well?" he asked, reaching around Rose to gently place his fork in the sink.

"The lesson ended for me when I threw my book at my teacher and called her a fascist bastard." And if she wasn't already proud of the moment, she would forever remember his soft laugh in response.

"Why do I get the sense that part of you didn't change?" he mused aloud.

"It didn't." She watched him scoop out two generous portions of a thick, whipped cream and drop them on top of each mug of chocolatey goodness. "Lissa and I ran away when we were in high school. We only got dragged back when they found us in Portland two years later. The guardian captain took me under her wing my senior year to make sure that I caught up so I could graduate on time."

He handed her a mug. "St. Vladimir's?"

"Yeah."

"The captain there is Alberta Petrov, right?"

"Yeah." Rose tilted her head in confusion. "How did you know?"

He shrugged. "She offered me a position on the team that was tracking you and your friend down, but I declined. I wasn't ready to go back in the field."

"No shit." Her hands tightened on the mug. "Man, I feel like things would've been different if you'd been around."

"How so?" His interest seemed genuine.

She shrugged. "I don't know. I feel like a lot of stuff could've been avoided. You're a legendary fighter. Lives could've been saved." She fell silent, thoughts drifting back to Mason getting pulled into the forest as Strigoi retreated during their attack on the school during her final year.

"Maybe in another lifetime," Dimitri said, making her wonder if he'd read the report on the attack. She could feel his eyes watching her carefully. "That's creme fraiche, by the way."

She was pulled from her thoughts like she suspected he was aiming for. "What?"

"Creme fraiche," he repeated, nodding to her mug. "The white stuff."

Unable to help herself, a grin creeped across her face. "So you do speak French."

"Keep believing that," he said, putting the tub back in the fridge. "I'll make you proper hot chocolate while I'm home. This isn't even half of what I can do."

"Are you kidding me?" she asked, burning her tongue as she took her first sip too fast. It was thick and heavenly and she wanted to take a bath in it. "This is the best hot chocolate I've ever had."

"American hot chocolate is so . . . not good," he said, unable to find a better word, and she let out a loud laugh before clamping a hand over her mouth.

"Sorry," she whispered.

"You're fine," he said quietly, his own voice breathy with laughter as he cleaned up. "My family would sleep through the end of the world. But—" He reached for his own mug and started out of the kitchen, "We should probably go to bed anyway."

Rose followed him, the kitchen floor making her realize one foot was colder than the other. "I think my slipper's in the other room."

His eyes sought her feet and he barely suppressed more laughter. "That's what happens when you fail terribly at your sneak attack."

"It was a great sneak attack," Rose defended in a whisper, standing on the bottom step as he turned the kitchen light out and ducked into the living room, returning with her slipper.

"The battle cry sort of gave you away," he whispered back, grabbing his duffel as she shoved her foot back into the slipper.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," she said with a grin as they trekked up the stairs.

In his room, he had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing when he saw the pile of blankets on the bed. "Rose, you know Baia isn't that much colder than Montana, right?"

She sniffed, setting her mug down on the bedside table she'd claimed as hers. "I'm in Siberia, you can't convince me any differently."

Pulled the top tour blankets off, he asked, "Do your feet get cold easily?"

"No."

"Then take off your socks and two of your shirts."

"What? Why?"

Had he been one of his sisters, she would've expected him to put a hand on his hip and roll his eyes. Instead, he merely shook his head. "With two people in the bed, you'll sweat to death. Trust me." When she didn't move, he added, "Who are you going to trust? You, who's experiencing her first Siberian winter or me, who's experiencing his thirtieth?"

"Thirty-first," she corrected. "Technically speaking."

"Don't remind me," he replied, making a face.

She deliberated for a minute and then relented. "Fine, you win."

Like a woman possessed, she kept her eyes locked on Dimitri's as she reached for the hem of her top two shirts and pulled them off swiftly, leaving her in a thin t-shirt that made it very clear she wasn't wearing a bra. She swelled with pride a bit at the way he swallowed hard and proceeded to make himself busy folding blankets, looking anywhere but her.

She slid under the remaining blankets and propped herself up against her pillow like she hadn't just stripped in front of — for? — him, sipping on her cooling hot chocolate and watching Dimitri fold each blanket like he had stitched them together himself. His fingers, long and most likely warm, were graceful, deftly matching corner to corresponding corner and crease straight lines. He stacked them by the door and reached in his duffel for a change of clothes, ducking out of the room without a word.

By the time he got back, she'd finished her drink and curled up under the covers, shivering from being deprived of her comfortable cocoon. Silence reigned while he flipped the overhead light off, drained his mug in three long swallows (and no, she didn't stare at his neck, that would be rude . . . oh who was she kidding?), and slipped into bed next to her. Almost instantly, the warmth of another body flooded her and she understood what he'd been trying to tell her. More blankets would've given her heat stroke. So long as he stayed next to her, she'd be just fine.

"I almost forgot," she murmured to no one in particular, watching the moonlit reflection of the snow falling against the closet on the other side of the room.

"Forgot what?" Dimitri asked after a moment, quiet and sounding almost afraid to ask.

"What it's like to sleep with someone else." After a beat, she realized with horror the implications of her words. "I mean, in the same bed as someone, not, like . . . sex."

Whatever tension already existed between them grew tenfold and Rose would later swear up and down she heard him swallow awkwardly. "I don't actually . . ."

"You've never—?"

"Nothing that was enjoyable. Not like what I think you're trying to say."

"Oh." Then: "Really?"

"Yeah. I never had a relationship get that far. Well . . . one did, but it's . . . It's a long story. Regardless, I was always on assignment."

Rose thought back to the times she used to sneak out of her dorm room to spend the night with Adrian, letting him get her drunk because _you're cute when you laugh, and you only do that when you're high on Skyy_ , which usually ended up in their weird version of half-dressed cuddling . . . they never did anything inappropriate, not until she graduated and agreed to a real relationship. Even then, they'd had sex a grand total of three times before Sydney Sage walked into his life and they'd parted on mutual, friendly terms. There had been a couple flings in college, dates and and guys to appease Lissa more than anything. Mason — dear, sweet Mason — had tried, but when push came to shove, she'd been too nervous about actually being naked with a guy for it to go anywhere.

"I'm single," she blurted out. Then: "Oh god . . . did I really just say that?" No, no, she can't be having this conversation, this is a rabbit hole that will only lead to the destruction of her project's integrity and who knows what kind of disciplinary actions for breaking the rules—

"You did," Dimitri replied, his tone not giving anything away. She glanced at him, saw him staring at the ceiling like he was trying to memorize the paint strokes above him. She wondered if he was aware of the mere centimeters separating them — his bed really wasn't meant for two people to have lots of space.

She aimed for cool and confident and fell somewhere short of a middle schooler asking their crush out for the first time. "You probably "You probably have, like, women lined up outside your house, begging you to marry them." _You need to shut your mouth, oh my god._

Could this conversation get anymore awkward? Everything had been so chill up until she'd gone and opened her big, fat mouth. She could've been just friends with this guy she's known all of an hour, a guy who's fighting skills were the stuff of campfire legends and would probably earn him a spot in guardian history textbooks, a guy she'd kill to actually have as a friend any day of the week, but no, she was trying to see if he would be down for boning, which really wasn't going to happen if her morals and ethics for her work won out—

"I don't, actually," he said with an awkward chuckle. "Not many female dhampirs around here are into relationships with other dhampirs."

She saw him link his fingers together on his stomach, above the covers, and filed away the comment for future pondering. She was here for _work_ , after all. "So you are single."

"Yes, Rose, I am. Are you trying to get at something here?"

" . . . Possibly."

"Good."

What the fuck did he mean by _that_?

"I'm going to sleep."

"That's . . . probably for the best."

"Night, then."

She turned on her side, away from him.

After a few minutes, when she thought he'd fallen asleep, she heard a soft, "Good night, Rose."

She didn't sleep a wink.


	5. Chapter Five

Similarly, the researcher participates and observes in everyday life situations. Every effort must be made to minimize the extent to which the researcher disrupts and otherwise intrudes as an alien, or nonparticipant, in the situations studied. Taking the role of a participant provides the researcher with a means of conducting fairly _unobtrusive_ [sic] observations.

— Danny Jorgensen, _Participant Observation: A Methodology for Human Studies_ (1989)

* * *

"Coffee, dear?" Olena asked as Rose entered the kitchen the next morning.

"Yes, please," she said, trying not to sound too desperate. She'd given up on trying to sleep somewhere around six, deciding a run would help her sweat out whatever was working her up. All her hard work went flying out the window when saw Dimitri's back to the doorway, hunched over food; her chest, once loosened from the endorphins pumping through her system, tangled into an undefinable swirl.

She gratefully sank into the only empty seat, not noticing it was next to Dimitri until she was halfway into the chair. This caused Viktoria and Sonya to erupt into barely controlled giggles and even Karolina was valiantly trying to hide a smile from behind her phone.

"What?" Olena asked the three of them, putting a mug of coffee in front of Rose, who accepted with a murmured thanks and furrowed brow aimed at the sisters.

"Nothing," Sonya said conspicuously, going back to her plate of _blini_ and fruit and quietly stifling more laughter. Viktoria shot Karolina a glance when Rose asked for the sugar and Dimitri pushed the bowl her way without a word, and the two women dissolved into giggles again.

"Chto _proiskhodit_?" Olena demanded. What _is going on?_

"Two of us were up late making drinks and flirting." Viktoria spoke like she was delivering the hottest gossip anyone had heard all year. "And out of the three of us awake last night, I went to bed as soon as I got home."

Rose blushed and then promptly became furious with herself for doing so. There wasn't anything to be embarrassed about; all they did was make small talk, right?

Dimitri, on the other hand, was a bit more vocal in his response, and it was harsh enough to surprise Rose. "You must really miss Rolan if you think basic conversation with the guest living in my house is _flirting_ ," he said, spitting out the last word like it was poison.

Whoever Rolan was, it shut Viktoria down instantly. Her grin sobered into a deep frown and she pushed away from the table, jumping to her feet. "You have _no_ _right_!" she shouted, tears welling up in her eyes.

"Dimka," Olena sighed wearily and Rose got the sense this was an old, tired episode of the same show. Dimitri had also stood and his frame towered over Viktoria's despite the table between them.

"No right to what? Protecting my sister? He's only after your neck and you know it," Dimitri spat.

Rose gripped her mug tight. This was a completely different person than the one who'd made her hot chocolate and listened to her fumble an announcement about her singlehood not all that long ago. It was unexpected, but she suddenly understood where the rest of his family came from when they thought Dimitri to be sullen and unhappy. Whatever issues he had, he clearly had no problem taking them out on the people around him. Viktoria, it seemed, got the worst of it.

On the other hand, she was finally getting some information pertaining to what she was here for and that was a success in and of itself. She'd been in Baia two months with only the rare hint at the secretive dhampir world that lurked in the shadows. Under the table, she opened her voice recorder app on her phone and quickly switched over to Facebook to let it run in the background, pretending to distract herself from the family drama going on above her head.

"I can't believe you would say that!" Viktoria shouted.

"It's the truth! I don't get why you refuse to see it!"

Yeva and the kids had appeared in the doorway by now, dressed and ready for the day. Alexei looked particularly upset.

"Just because you haven't fucked a woman in God knows—"

"Viktoria Randalovna," Yeva said, just loud enough to be heard by all, and the room fell into silence instantly. All eyes were fixed on Yeva, who, despite her frail stature, suddenly commanded the room. " _Pomnite vashe mesto_." _Remember your place._

Viktoria nodded and glanced at Dimitri, whose fists were clenched at his sides. "Sorry, brother."

He nodded.

" _Mama_ ," Alexei called, breaking forward to Viktoria, who immediately scooped him up and sat him on her hip, her features softening in his presence. She threw her brother a withering glance and led her nieces out of the room, quietly promising the four of them could play in the living room together until it was time for school.

Dimitri stayed standing, though after Rose accidentally met his eyes, he slowly unfurled his hands, stretching his fingers out. He sat back down and focused on nothing beyond his plate. Yeva took at her usual spot at the head of the table and asked Karolina, in Russian, where Alex was, nodding when Karolina quietly replied, in English, that he was in the shower. Rose had barely tucked into the food Olena had sat down in front of her when Dimitri stood abruptly, apparently finished eating, and dropped his plate and fork in the sink before heading out the little-used back door. Olena watched him go, worry on her face.

"He'll be fine, mama," Karolina said. "I'm sure he's just feeling cloistered being back in this small house."

"I know," Olena replied. Her lips had thinned from concern. "Keep Vika in line, would you, Karo? I don't like it when they fight."

"I will," Karolina promised, standing and kissing her mother on the cheek before disappearing into the living room to round up the kids.

Rose subtly closed out her voice recorder app then, ending the recording, and slipped her phone into her pocket.

* * *

Later, after a long shower and a change of clothes, Rose returned downstairs to find Olena and Alex splitting sections of the newspaper. Yeva, so help her God, was in the living room knitting a pair of socks like she wasn't some terrifying witch who supposedly had dreams about the future — dreams Rose still had yet to hear about considering the old woman never gave her the time of day. Olena lit up when she saw Rose at the bottom of the stairs, deciding her next move.

"Rose! Are you busy?" Olena asked as she stood, beckoning Rose over.

 _Clearly._ "No." She stepped off the last stair and stood in the doorway of the kitchen.

"Good. Can you take this to Dimka?" Olena handed Rose a brown paper bag. "It's nearly twelve, he must be starving by now.

For a moment, Rose was insulted to be running lunch to someone, until she decided this was a step up — it was her first errand by herself. Alex certainly seemed to think so; from behind Olena, he gave Rose a thumbs up and bright smile, and then returned to the sports section.

"Sure." She turned to go get her coat and boots before turning back around. "Um . . . where _is_ he, exactly?"

"Oh!" Olena shook her head and squeezed Rose's wrists. "I forgot. You wouldn't know. Lake Udel. He goes there when he needs space. Always has since he was young."

"And how do I . . . ?" Rose asked, gesturing vaguely towards east. The sun was still making its trek up from the horizon, weakly pushing through the living room windows.

"Go out to Lenina and make a . . . right. Yes, a right. Follow it to the end. It'll turn into dirt after a while." She shook her head, an emotion overcoming her that Rose couldn't read. "It's a twenty minute walk to the lake from there." Rose nodded her understanding, and Olena pressed a hand to Rose's cheek gently, something akin to hope in her eyes. "I wouldn't bother him, except it's cold and he didn't eat much breakfast and—"

"You worry about him," Rose finished. "I get it." She didn't mention how part of her was jealous Olena cared so much about her son, that this exchange was digging up Rose's lifelong wish that her mother had been half as involved in her life or even aware of her enough to know when something was wrong with her daughter. Things had been getting better since Rose had become a guardian, but their relationship was more of a friendship than any true mother-daughter bond.

" _Spasibo_ , Rose." Olena sat back down and picked up her section of the newspaper with shaky hands. As Rose made to leave, Olena also called out, "Wear a scarf. It gets cold on the water."

"I will," Rose said, heart twisting with envy.

* * *

Field relations involve negotiation and exchange between participant observer and insiders (see Blau, 1964; Whyte, 1984). Although some transactions may involve money or material items, the medium of exchange most likely will be nonmaterial and symbolic. Whether or not people are self-consciously aware of it, all parties to a relationship expect something or some value from these interactions.

— Danny Jorgensen, _Participant Observation: A Methodology for Human Studies_ (1989)

* * *

_Cold on the water_ was an understatement. Rose felt like she should've worn three scarves and matched each one with a parka, and even then, the air would still have been nipping at her bones. And it was supposed to get _colder_ in January and February. _Fuck this_ , she thought miserably as the lake finally came into view, tall birch trees ringing it and set back from the water by a good distance; the lake stretched on just enough to make the birches look like stubs on the horizon. The ground crunched under her feet, a mix of cold rocks and frozen dirt.

The line of Dimitri's shoulders was tight, and Rose could tell he was angry about something. It looked like he was throwing something; as she got closer, she could see it was rocks he was throwing, doing a really bad job at trying to skip them across the water. A shiny, black car was parked near him. She wondered where it came from. It certainly wasn't the old blue thing barely scraping by that the rest of the family used.

"That yours?" she asked, gesturing to the car.

He looked up, momentarily surprised to see her, and shrugged a shoulder. "Technically."

"Technically?" Rose echoed, curious about his choice of word.

"I got it after a friend died," he said, tone clear that the topic was over. Rose suddenly had a suspicion the "friend" was Ivan Zeklos.

"Your friend had good taste," she said, keeping her distance. She didn't know which Dimitri was with her at the moment — warm, gentle Dimitri from last night or the irritated, closed off man from this morning?

He didn't acknowledge the comment and finally turned away from the lake, nodding towards the bag, the rock in his hand jumping from small tosses in the air. "My mother send lunch?"

"I get the sense this isn't the first time you've thrown a tantrum and stormed out of the house like a teenage girl," Rose teased, the urge to lighten up the mood overtaking rational thought.

Raising an eyebrow, he took the bag when Rose held it out. "I didn't throw a tantrum."

"You're talking to the girl who earned the nickname 'The Terror of St. Vlad's' when she was four. I call 'em like I see 'em, comrade," Rose said, following his lead when he sat on the hood of the car.

His eyebrow went higher at the nickname. Rose suddenly found herself wishing she could do the same thing. It looked cool. "'Comrade'?"

"Hey, if I get a nickname, you get a nickname," she said.

"You get an actual name. 'Comrade' is just downright offensive," he pointed out.

"Yeah, but you calmed down a little when I said it, so you can't find it that bad. Plus isn't the actual word something different in Russian?"

"It's ' _tovarishch_ '." He paused in opening the bag, studying her. "But you're right. I was young when everything changed. My sisters and I weren't really being referred by it all that often." He fully opened the bag and shook his head when he looked inside. "Trust my mother to feed everyone. She made you lunch, too."

"Really? Sweet," Rose said, glancing over his shoulder and holding her hand out. Inside were half a dozen sandwiches, clementines, and a small container of potato salad. " _Buterbrod_ , please."

Grinning, her handed her one of the carefully wrapped open-faced sandwiches topped with cheese, sausage, and tomato. "I see Karo's gotten a hold of you."

"I'm sorry," Rose said, feigning disinterest in him as she unwrapped the cellophane. "I can't hear your thinly veiled insults about my crappy Russian over the sounds of this melted cheese."

Whatever tension Dimitri was still holding onto disappeared when he let out a laugh.

"You do that a lot around me," Rose noted, unconsciously shifting closer, like his heat might warm up where her butt was frozen against the car.

"I do a lot of what around you?" Dimitri asked, opening his own sandwich and taking a bite, all while looking at her.

"Laugh. Smile. It's weird. Well, it's not weird. I'm just not sure what to make of it." Rose took a bite and chewed thoughtfully. "I had two months of build up that you were this sad, surly warlord who'd been knocked off his feet early in the game. And when I finally do meet you, you're making me hot chocolate at one in the morning before you've even taken off your coat. I don't know. It doesn't fit with what I was picturing."

"You don't pull any punches," he noted.

"On the contrary, I've been known to punch too _much_ ," she joked, catching his gaze for a moment. They shared a smile; he was the first to look away, and things grew serious again.

"You've heard about Ivan, my charge, I'm sure," he said, staring at his food.

"It was hard not to."

He sucked in a breath. "The way we deal with mental health here is . . . complicated, to put it succinctly. I'm sure if I were in the States or Britain or somewhere like that, I would've been pushed into a therapist's office and diagnosed with something like depression after he died. I recognize I probably have a lot of survivor's guilt at the very least." He looked like he was struggling to get the words out and she set her sandwich aside to watch him carefully, a silent show of her unwavering attention.

"Here . . . it's different. We're raised with the mindset that everyone has problems and you deal with it on your own, no questions asked. Women can show emotion because they're women, which probably sounds horribly sexist to you, but it means I haven't been given the opportunity to openly grieve, so I don't . . . I haven't . . ."

"You haven't dealt with what happened," she said quietly. "Not in a healthy way, I mean."

"No." He looked up to the overcast sky that seemed to match his disposition. "It's been seven years and I still . . ." He trailed off, lips pressed tight together.

She bit the inside of her cheek, debating her next words. In the end, she decided to go for it. "Lissa — the Queen — she's been dealing with depression for a long time. It's a spirit thing."

"I know," he said gently in a way that didn't make her feel like he was interrupting. "Oksana used to have problems, too."

She noted his use of the past tense and pressed on. "I'm not going to fix you or anything. I just want you to know that _I_ know what it looks like and while I haven't lost a charge, I am a guardian, so I get it. Kind of. If you ever want to talk. You don't have to if you don't want to. I'm offering as a friend."

_Was that presumptuous? Are we friends? We're friendly, sure, but—_

"To answer your question, yes, I am a sad, surly warlord," he said, trying out her words and half-smiling when she laughed at how ridiculous they sounded coming out of his mouth. "I can't name it. There's something about you. You brighten the room when you walk in. It's infectious."

She ducked her head and smiled, returning to her sandwich. "Thanks." Finding her usual bravado to cover up how she was melting at his words, she added, "It's not easy being this awesome."

That got a head shake out of him and he was about to say something when he noticed how badly she was shivering. Wordlessly, he slid off the hood of the car and opened the passenger door, rummaging around in the glove compartment before coming up with a half-full bottle of vodka with a triumphant "Aha!"

"Is all you people do drink?" she asked, trying to raise only one eyebrow like she'd seen him do earlier and failing miserably.

"Don't hurt yourself," he teased, pulling one of his gloves off to unscrew the bottle. He held it out to her. "Here."

"Dimitri, it's twelve-thirty in the afternoon."

"And it's three degrees out."

"What's that in Farenheit again?"

"You still haven't gotten used Celsius? Three degrees is like . . . thirty-five to you? Forty? You're getting off-topic again."

She eyed the bottle. "Doesn't alcohol actually make you colder or something?"

"Yes, but you'll feel warmer."

She narrowed her eyes.

"Rose, stop arguing with me and take a drink. It'll help you out right now."

"I think a hug would go a lot farther," she said without thinking.

He stopped for half a second. "You'll get a hug if you take a drink."

"This isn't drugged or anything, right?" she asked, warily taking the bottle from him.

"Yes, because I drug my personal stash," he replied tiredly.

Watching him carefully, she took a long swig, proud of herself for not reacting violently like she had that day at Mark and Oksana's. She handed him the bottle back, unable to completely not make a face, and shook her head. "I don't know how you people drink that stuff."

"Schnapps is worse."

"Uh, no, it's not. I lived on schnapps for years at parties, and I'd take it over that shit," she said, waving towards the vodka.

"Sure, Rose." He tilted the bottle back with an easy grin and took a longer pull than she did. He made it look like he was drinking water.

"I'm not going to even ask how," she said, shaking her head and reaching for another sandwich from the bag.

He rejoined her on the hood after putting the vodka away and the two fell into comfortable silence as they ate and watched the water gently lap at the shore, chunks of ice bobbing along. She didn't want to admit that the alcohol helped her feel warmer, but it did, and she knew he could tell.

"I'd teach you how to skip rocks," she said as they were finishing, "But I think it's too windy."

"You know how?"

"Why the surprise?" she asked, squinting at him.

"It doesn't seem like something you'd know how to do. Too quiet."

She laughed. "I had a crush on Lissa's older brother for about five seconds during middle school, when her family and I went on a vacation in the Poconos one summer. The only thing I got out of him during the trip was two smiles, about fifteen minutes of solo interaction, and that useless skill."

"In the spring, then," he said, "When I'm home for Easter and the ice has melted."

She looked up at him, nodding slowly, and balled up the baggie that had once held clementine slices. "Sounds like a plan."

"Do you want to go back, or do you want to stay? I know it's cold, but we've got a couple hours of sunlight left," he said. "Your choice."

Leaning back to prop herself up on her elbows. "Let's stay, but inside the car. Vodka or not, I'm cold sitting out here."

"In the car it is," he agreed.

Inside, she happily curled up in the passenger seat with the heat blasting on her as they traded horror stories of their novice years in school; later, as the sun slipped behind the horizon in mid-afternoon, she took a nap and he pulled out a battered novel, and when the sun had fully set and she woke up hungry, he drove them home with his elbow resting on the center console.

* * *

It didn't take that long for Rose to adjust her daily routines, unconsciously accommodating her life to have Dimitri around as much as possible. She found herself soaking up every little piece of information about him she could get her hands on, completely forgetting that she was in Baia to learn about dhampirs as a collective, not a single one with warm, brown eyes and hair that always seemed to want to escape the ponytail he was constantly redoing. His second day home, he offered to be her errand partner, and Alex relinquished the job to him permanently with a knowing smile to Rose.

While she thought she could read him from the moment they met, only time could show her just how deep his layers went. Without fail, any time they were surrounded by other Belikovs, his face closed off to that blank slate Rose hated to see. In their time alone — chatting away afternoons at the lake about whatever came to mind, late nights with her poking fun at him over his novels and him teasing her _some people read books for fun, Rose_ — she got so used to his easy smiles and quick, gentle laughs that the stoic rock he presented to his family was unsettling. It was a reminder that while things between them were easygoing and friendly, there was still so much she didn't really know, so much he was silently.

She didn't say anything when the photo of him and Ivan on their graduation day disappeared.

* * *

_Rose. Skype. Now._

Lissa's thoughts were sharp and clear over the bond, causing Rose to nearly drop the bread she was sliding into the oven. Lissa's excitement over the bond was intense enough that Rose could feel it, something that was rare now with Lissa taking meds to control her moods. She hurriedly shoved the bread in, set one of the timers on the stove, and brought it with her upstairs to Dimitri's room. He wasn't there — she sent a silent _thank you_ to whoever was listening because there was no way of knowing what Lissa was freaking out about — and flipped open her laptop, accepting the video chat request as soon as it popped up. When Lissa's camera loaded, all Rose could see was her finger and something white.

"Liss, it's too blurry, I can't see," Rose said, anticipation building in her.

"Sorry!" Lissa replied, pulling her hand back enough for Rose to see that _holy shit engagement ring_.

Rose let out a tiny shriek. "Is that—?"

Lissa was nodding and bouncing in her seat. "He proposed! _On Christmas_!"

"No fucking way," Rose breathed, excitement coursing through her — doubly, if she counted what she was pulling from Lissa. "Congratulations! This is so great! You have to tell me every detail of every second of his proposal."

So Lissa launched into the story of how Christian made a point of pointing out a tiny wrapped present that had to be opened last and how everyone was there, even his aunt Tasha, and she — Lissa — spent the whole morning dying to know what it was and then after everyone had opened all of their presents, he finally let her have at it — _the paper was kittens wearing Santa hats, Rose, it was so cute_ — and when she saw it was a tiny jewelry box, she started shaking because _yes, of course, it had to be a ring, what else could it be?_ and then Christian was pulling it out of her hands and shifting onto one knee and opening it and by that point Lissa was crying as she was recounting the moment and she promised she'd write up what Christian said and send it to Rose later because _it was beautiful, you have to see it_ , and now here she was, five minutes later, hair in a messy bun and still in pajamas, Skyping Rose and wishing her best friend could've been there to see the whole thing in person.

"The wedding won't be until I get back, right?" Rose asked, vaguely aware of the door opening and closing and someone entering in between.

"Oh, yeah, definitely. It's rare that a Queen gets married during her reign, so obviously it can't be some quiet, simple affair. It'll be huge and ridiculous—"

"And you're going to love every minute of it," Rose added, making the mistake of glancing up and seeing a shirtless Dimitri bending over the duffel he insisted on living out of. Her hands flew up over her face and her eyes slammed shut. "Sheesh, comrade, warn a girl, will you?"

"Comrade?" Lissa's voice was tinny and slightly distant and Rose glanced down at the screen, realizing her best friend couldn't see what she was avoiding.

Dimitri merely shook his head, pulling out a carefully folded button down and shrugging it on. "I know you've seen shirtless men before, Rose."

"Yeah, but not so, like, in my face," she retorted, gesturing between the two of them.

"Rose . . ."

"Right, sorry, Liss." Deeming Dimitri acceptable enough to make virtual introductions, she picked up the laptop and turned it around. "Lissa, meet Dimitri Belikov, almost as guardian extraordinaire as me and whose bed I've been crashing in for the past two and half months. Dimitri, this is Queen Vasilisa Dragomir, first of her name and newly engaged."

"Congratulations, Your Majesty," Dimitri replied with a respectful nod of his head.

Lissa made a gagging noise as Rose turned her laptop back around, trying to hide her smile. "I hate formalities," Lissa complained. "They're so . . . formal."

"Careful there, Your Highness, or you're gonna start sounding like me," Rose teased.

Lissa made a face and then looked back down at her hand and squealed again. "I'm still in disbelief."

"I'm surprised Christian got his act together enough to even buy you a ring. Did you know this was coming?"

"I had a feeling," Lissa said, unable to stop touching the glittering diamond. "One of my well-worn rings disappeared shortly before graduation, but I thought I'd misplaced it, remember? It wasn't until he started getting cagey around Thanksgiving that I knew something was up; then the ring reappeared in my stuff, and I just got this feeling when I saw it again, you know?"

Rose was about to reply when the timer went off. Dimitri had ninjaed in his way into dark, formal looking jeans without Rose noticing, and was tying his wet hair back when he nodded to the beeping. "Mama?"

"She put me in charge of some of the _khleb_ since she deemed me good enough to make it unsupervised last week. There's a loaf currently in the oven that needs to rise again and a second that's been rising on the counter that needs to go back in." She tossed him the timer across the small room and he deftly caught it and shut it off. "You may have to fight your sisters for oven space, but I think you can take them."

"Black or white?" he asked, grabbing his phone off his charger by the door and pocketing it.

"Black. White bread tastes weird here."

"I'll be sure not to mention how normal it is in comparison to the black bread," he joked, giving her one of his full smiles that she'd come to deem rare enough to be a gift from God Himself.

"Go, before Olena has my head for ruining your party," Rose said, shooing him away and turning back to Lissa when he left.

Lissa, who had her eyebrows raised and was tapping her chin with a long, slim finger. "That sure was awfully flirty, Rose."

"We're friends," Rose defended without much fire.

"Uh huh," Lissa said, completely unconvinced.

"And even if it was—"

"It totally was."

"—Nothing can happen. It would go against the guardian code of ethics."

"That's a shame. He's kind of hot."

A voice that sounded like Christian shouting _Hey!_ floated in from the background.

"I meant he's Rose's kind of hot, babe," Lissa replied over her laptop.

" _Ugh_ , Lissa, listen to me," Rose said, excuses coming fast and furious. "I'm supposed to be objectively observing, not fraternizing with the subjects. Besides, he's going back to his posting in a few weeks and in the long term, I'm going back home next autumn, and—and—and we're two guardians, that doesn't happen where we live. It would never be accepted at Court."

Mia suddenly appeared from off-screen, leaning over Lissa into the camera's view. "She's not saying you should marry the guy. What she's saying is that you should tap it a few times and just not tell anyone so she can live vicariously through you when her sex life inevitably dries up during the wedding planning she's about to launch into."

Lissa shot Mia a glare. "Don't listen to her Rose. I'm all for you following the rules and not getting in trouble again."

Christian said something Rose couldn't make out and Mia huffed a sigh, leaning back out of the frame. It looked like they were sitting on a couch.

"What'd he say?" Rose asked.

"Just that Mia and I are both right, but I'm more right."

"Getting in trouble is bad, Rose," Christian said, popping over the top of Lissa's screen. "Don't do it."

"You're one to talk," Rose shot back, returning his shit-eating grin.

The door opened. Thankfully, it was Paul sticking his head in and not his half-naked uncle. "Mama says getting Dimitri to do all your dirty work is just lazy, which Babushka followed up with a pretty colorful insult about Americans."

Rose rolled her eyes. "Tell them I'm discussing important matters with the Queen."

"Okayyyy," Paul drawled.

"I'll be down in a minute!" she added loudly right as the door clicked shut and she heard him descend the stairs.

"You guys having a party or something?"

"Dimitri turned thirty a month ago," Rose explained. "His mom decided to coincide his birthday party with the 'Western Christmas'." She made air quotes with her fingers around the last two words. "Apparently the whole dhampir community is coming out or something."

"Ah," Lissa said, like she was in on a secret now. "We can talk later, and I'm sure you'll be checking in—"

"Of course."

"We won't keep you from the Hot Guardian," Mia said, leaning in again. "So go get drunk and try not to hit on him too much."

"Item number one of what you shouldn't do tonight," Lissa said, poking Mia in the shoulder.

"Tell everyone I say 'hi' and that I love them," Rose said, laughing to herself at Lissa's exasperated look.

"I will." Lissa was still fingering her ring. "I miss you."

"I miss you, too," Rose said earnestly. "Christian, too, but he doesn't need to know it."

"I heard that!" Christian shouted from off-screen, and the two friends shared a laugh before Lissa blew an air kiss and ended the call.

* * *

Trust and cooperation [from the informant] may be withdrawn at any time. The participant observer must be prepared to evaluate when there is "sufficient" trust and cooperation to support the collection of accurate and dependable information (Johnson, 1975). In other words . . . [d]oes the informant, for instance, tell you more than would be told to a stranger? Do you feel comfortable interacting with one another? Can you laugh and joke together? How much do you know about this person and their social history?

— Danny Jorgensen, _Participant Observation: A Methodology for Human Studies_ (1989)


	6. Chapter Six

**Field Report Five (5)**

_R. Hathaway_

December 24

[Note: Previous name changes have been kept.]

[. . .]

_I'm hoping that the party Irina is throwing on the 25th will shed some light on the town's dhampir culture, or even just give me something to work with. I knew going into this assignment that commune dhampirs wouldn't be up for sharing, but I wasn't prepared for the stoic silence I'm getting. Zenaida slips the most . . . which is about what I'd expect from a five-year-old. Everyone else doesn't dare breathe a word, making my job here frustrating and tiring._

_True to form, Misha, the son, is the only willing to cooperate. My hours logged talking to him surpass anyone else in the family by miles, something I was surprised to note the other day going through my recordings since my last report — though it may just be that conversation with him is far more enjoyable than with anyone else. He's the only one to have let on about the family's relationship with his and his sisters' father, though admittedly it wasn't much. When I brought it up, he was quick to brush me off and move on to something else, indicating to me that the relationship there may be more negative than positive. He and Veronika return to school before my next field report, so I'm hoping that continuing to spend time together will get him to open up to me more._

[. . .]

* * *

"Sorry about my friends," Rose said under her breath to Dimitri in the kitchen a little bit later while the family was running around and putting final preparations on everything. Even Paul had been pulled into the mix, and he didn't look too happy about having to work.

"Don't worry about it," Dimitri replied, carefully brushing an egg wash over top one of Rose's half-decent attempts at black bread. "They clearly love you and just want the best for you."

"Yeah, but usually it's _me_ who's ganging up to make suggestive comments, not the other way around."

"Well maybe that just means—"

"Rose!" Viktoria called from the table, where she was trying to wrangle Katya into sitting still long enough to braid her hair. "Can you go find Alexei?"

"Yeah, sure," Rose said, happy to be free of another awkward conversation with the guy she woke up wishing she was wrapped around instead of her pillow.

(Alexei turned out to be hiding in the bathtub, behind the curtain, and only emerged with a single nod of his head when Rose promised he could eat as much cake as he wanted.)

* * *

Every ethnographer, when he reaches the field, is faced immediately with accounting for himself before the people he proposes to learn to know. Only when this has been accomplished can he proceed to his avowed task of seeking to understand and interpret the way of life of those people.

— Gerald D. Berreman, _Behind Many Masks: Ethnography and Impression Management_ (1962)

* * *

"Hey, Rose," Karolina said, poking her head in Dimitri's room. "You're changing, right?"

Rose looked down at the one decent blouse she'd brought, black and slightly clingy. The material gave easily when she picked a stray hair off the front and turned back to the other woman, raising her eyebrows as she replied, "Yeah. Why?"

Karolina shrugged. "I wanted to recommend you wear your hair up. It's going to get hot in this house very quickly and besides, you've always got it down. A bun is a little dressier."

Opening her phone, Rose gathered her hair up, twisted it into the suggested style, and checked her reflection in the front-facing camera. Yeah, Karolina was on to something — assessing her angles, Rose was hit with the realization that lately, she'd only been wearing her hair up for runs, and she usually pulled it down as soon as she was finished so as to keep her ears warm, and a loose bun really did help dress up the shirt more.

"You have a . . . ?" Rose asked, still holding the thick swirl at the crown of her head and gesturing to it with her free hand.

Karolina held out a black hair tie and disappeared to let Rose finish getting ready.

* * *

Almost immediately after the first guests arrived, Rose realized she hadn't taken it seriously enough that when Sonya had said the entire dhampir community would show up, she'd truly meant the _entire_ dhampir community. Everyone brought dishes, too, which made all of the family's earlier efforts in the kitchen seem pointless. Within an hour, there were easily over a hundred people packed into the house as well as the front and backyards, with some spilling out on to the street, eating and drinking and talking, vodka making sure sub-zero temperatures were ignored in favor of socializing. Though that could've just as easily been the Russian tolerance for harsh winter weather.

Rose found herself unsurprised that Dimitri seemed to know everyone and their life story, though she could see it was wearing on him already. He was a natural introvert; it was clear he was pushing himself to interact with everyone and catch up, especially with everyone acting like he'd been away for years instead of less than an academy semester.

Most people seemed to be giving her a wide berth, and rather than force anything that the locals weren't comfortable with, she tucked herself in a corner of the living room with Paul and some of his friends who were home on break. Someone had nicked one of the many bottles of vodka and the foursome were passing it around the circle as Rose taught them Western card games. She was in the middle of getting slaughtered during a round of Shithead when someone tapped her on the shoulder.

"Hey!" she exclaimed, seeing Mark and Oksana looking down at her and the group with expressions more amused than scolding.

"I'm eighteen," one of the boys lied, snatching the bottle from Paul.

Mark just laughed and waved the boy off. "We're here for Rose. May we borrow her for a minute, gentlemen?"

"Suckers," Rose said, dumping her cards on the floor as she stood, forcing a forfeit of the round. "I'll be back in a bit."

"No vodka?" Oksana teased as the three squeezed into the kitchen, handing Rose a plate of what looked like cookies.

"Hell no," Rose said emphatically. She dropped the cookies on the counter next to the sink in what little space was left and turned around. There was enough room for the three of them to stand and chat comfortably. Barely.

"It's Christmas for you, isn't it?" Mark asked.

Rose nodded, a pang hitting her gently in the chest.

"Merry Christmas, then," he said with a soft smile.

"I've been promised gifts at New Year's," Rose said, like not getting presents in December was the end of the world. She laughed. "Thank God for Amazon. I just shipped all my friends their presents to them this year. Some of their stuff to me has come in. I'm waiting on others. I've been told customs can take a while."

"Your friends, they're good?" Oksana asked, shrugging off her coat and folding it over an arm. She unlooped her scarf and laid it atop her parka.

"Yeah. I miss them, but I haven't gotten homesick or anything yet." Rose crossed her arms over her chest. "It's weird. I've been expecting to wake up missing them like crazy one day, but it hasn't happened yet."

"It'll happen soon enough," Oksana promised. "Once the holidays are over and Olena calms down, I bet."

"The Queen is your bondmate, yes?" Mark asked, jumping topic so fast, it made Rose pause for a few seconds while she puzzled out the new term.

"Um, yeah," she said, slowly. "How did—?"

"Ksyusha and I were talking about this the other day," he said, taking Oksana's coat and scarf from her with a gentle tap on her elbow. "It's a logical enough jump but we weren't completely sure. Even out here, we know Queen Vasilisa works spirit, and if you don't really feel like you've left your friends. . . ." Mark shrugged, gave a passing Alex a nod, and turned back to Rose. "This isn't the place to talk about it, and I know Olena's probably got you busy—"

"Always," Rose muttered.

"But if you have any problems, whatsoever, you know you can come to us, yes?"

She bit her lip and stared at the couple in front of her. When she first met them, she hadn't noticed any signs of instability or wild emotions, and it still held true now. But their bond was open, if her interactions with them were anything to go by. Based on her first lakeside conversation with Dimitri, she felt comfortable in her assumptions to say Oksana wasn't on antidepressants. So then . . .

"How do you manage feeling all of Oksana's emotions?" Rose asked, eyes darting between the two of them.

"It's a delicate balance," Oksana said with a glance at her husband.

"It took a long time," Mark admitted. "She heals the more intense effects out of me. It sounds paradoxical, but it works. I don't think even _we're_ quite sure of how it works, so we can explain the mechanics, just not the how or why."

Rose nodded, deep in thought.

"We can definitely talk more," Mark said, reaching out and clasping Rose's shoulder. "In the meantime, I head Vanya and Olga brought _pelmeni myaco_ and that's the only reason I bothered showing up. Take care, Rose." Mark gave one final nod and slipped into the throng of people.

"How long have you and Queen Vasilisa been bonded?" Oksana asked after a moment, still standing in front of Rose, fingers fiddling with her purse strap.

Rose squinted as she did the math. "Seven, eight years? Something like that. It was ninth grade."

"It'll get easier," Oksana said, a small smile on her face. "I saved Mark much longer than eight years ago and we still struggle with it from time to time. On the whole, though, you get more of a handle on everything as time goes on."

"I hope so. Having a backstage pass to legislation discussion was cool for about five minutes."

Oksana laughed. "I'm sure it was. If you'll excuse me, I have to go make sure my husband doesn't eat so much that he can't walk home tonight."

"A man after my own heart," Rose joked, and the two parted ways.

Back in the living room, the handful of boys had disappeared. Yeva sat on the sofa next to where they'd once been congregated.

"Where'd they go?" Rose asked, in English.

Yeva stared back at her, dark beady eyes staring straight into Rose's soul and giving nothing away.

"Paul and his three friends. Where'd they go?"

Nothing.

"A couple of teenagers, probably too much alcohol, pretending they're hot shit?"

Nothing.

So the old woman wanted a standoff.

Rose put her hands on her hips. "I know you understand me. Paul talks to you in English all the time."

Slowly, a smug smile appeared on her face.

"For God's sake . . ."

"Rose." It was Sonya, across the room. Rose turned and the older woman jerked her head up the stairs. "I sent them up to the boys' room to keep them out of the way."

"Oh, good, so now I can go freeze to death to get my cards back," Rose said, slipping through the people going out the front door, and past Sonya, who snorted.

Upstairs, in the room Paul and Alexei shared, Rose found the four boys playing without her. Not only had someone produced a fresh bottle of vodka, cigarettes had also joined the party.

"Those'll kill you," Rose said disapprovingly, taking a seat on the floor in the space Paul and one of his friends made for her, shuffling out of the way.

"We all graduate next August," one of the boys said, taking a drag. Smoke floated up above him on his exhale, thick and dirty white. "I'm pretty sure a Strigoi will get me first. Pasha, what would you bet on killing me first? Cigarettes or bloodthirsty vampires?"

Paul, to Rose's surprise, gave his friend a relaxed, lazy smile and threw out a wild card. "Vampires, probably. I'd say the cigarettes if you were graduating when my mom did."

Rose winced. Getting the age decree reversed was one of Lissa's top priorities since taking the throne, but nothing had been successful yet. Novices were still becoming guardians at sixteen. The rates for first-year guardian deaths had skyrocketed since Rose's graduating class.

"What's your name?" Rose asked the boy, watching Paul take a long pull off the bottle and pass it to his friend in her peripherals.

"Viktor," the boy said.

"Okay, Viktor," she said, staring him down. "Let me ask you two questions. Can you run?"

He shrugged, threw down two eights. The next boy in rotation grumbled at being skipped.

"What's your personal best?"

Looking up at the ceiling, Viktor took a while to answer. "I average a seven-fifty mile."

"That's shit and you know it," Rose said, shaking her head.

Even still, he looked unfazed. "Aren't we supposed to be trying our best? Isn't that all we can do when faced with a Strigoi?" he asked, tone heating as he spoke.

"Vitya," Paul said softly, and he didn't speak again until Viktor finally looked at him. "You know I know you're capable of better."

After a silent moment, Viktor nodded to Paul and addressed Rose, who gestured to the cigarette in his hand.

"Quit those and start running after school. I promise you, they don't make you look cool, and if you can get down to a five-fifteen minute mile, you and whoever you get assigned to will stand a pretty fair chance against a Strigoi."

"Who says they don't make me look cool?" Viktor challenged.

Paul swore in Russian at the boy to Rose's right when he laid down a King, and she caught the name Igor in the middle of it.

"She got that Ivashkov _pyaniy_ to quit," the third, unnamed boy said and Viktor replied back with something in Russian that Rose didn't catch.

Pursing his lips, Paul was focusing very hard on his cards and not on what his friends were saying. Forcing herself not to stoop to the level of an immature, sixteen-year-old boy, she tilted her head and asked, with genuine curiosity, "'Ivashkov _pyaniy_?"

"This is a blood whore commune," Igor said slowly, like Rose had no clue. "Moroi men come and go faster than the sun turns."

"Not just Moroi. _Royal_ Moroi." Viktor had lost some of his bravado and sucked long on his cigarette, burning through a fourth of it in one go. "Ivashkovs tends to come around the most because they're the richest. They can afford to come out here."

"And then when it got out that the American coming to visit on behalf of the Queen was _you_ , there was a lot of whispers that the Queen had found out you were, well . . ." The third boy drifted off.

The room went still with the implications. The game had stopped completely, forgotten in favor of the conversation.

"She's not like that, Boris," Paul defended quietly, looking down at his crossed legs. Across the circle, Viktor was staring at Paul, a half-grimace curling his mouth down.

"I know," Boris said defensively. "But she's a dhampir girl who was with an Ivashkov for long enough, and then she's staying with the _Belikovs_ of all families . . . There was a lot of talk." He looked at her. "I'm surprised you didn't know."

Stunned, she recounted the past two and half months. The Belikovs had been nothing but warm and welcoming. She'd come to feel like Olena's fourth daughter in many ways. There'd been no indication that gossip had been running rampant because of her, though it did explain the handful of odd looks she got when some of the older women had arrived earlier. How big of a social sacrifice had Olena and her family made in agreeing to be Rose's host family for her assignment? Was that what this party was about? Was Dimitri's birthday an excuse for Olena to be able to show off that the American dhampir girl who'd once dated Adrian Ivashkov was very much clean and not at all a blood whore? Karolina's earlier words came back to her.

_Wear your hair up. You've always got it down._

Was that to show her molnija and promise marks and how unmarked the rest of her neck was? But that didn't make any sense— Lissa had always healed her bite marks when they'd been on the run and the handful of times she'd been bitten since hadn't left anything stark enough to see at quick glance in a house full of people.

Her head suddenly hurt and an itch was crawling up her arms, making her hands shake and setting her heart running. She snapped her fingers at the bottle of vodka. If nothing else, she could at least forget the rest of the night, Lissa's assignment be damned. Now she wasn't so sure she wanted to get as deep inside the secret dhampir culture in Baia as she was supposed to go. "Give me that."

Igor hurriedly handed it to her and she gulped about three drinks worth in one go, relishing in the burn.

"You guys know how to play blackjack?" When only Paul nodded (which Rose wondered about, because then _who_ in his family had taught him?), she gestured for the cards. "I'm gonna teach you and then we're gonna play for shots. I need to get drunk and you're my best company right now."

* * *

An hour and many victorious rounds later, Rose was the drunkest she'd been since high school. In between hands, she offered to go snatch a plate of food from somewhere, not realizing she was capital-'d' Drunk until faced with the stairs. The world was spinning, but remembering the food in the kitchen, she decided it would be worth it. There was a stack of blini the size of . . . well maybe not the Empire State Building, but close enough. There was a lot. And jam. Jam was good.

_One foot in front of the other. Down the stairs. It's not that hard, Rose._

Halfway down, she missed a step and would've taken a nasty tumble if something solid hadn't stopped her. If some _one_ hadn't stopped her.

"Rose, are you okay?"

She looked up to see Dimitri holding onto her elbows, concern in his eyes.

"Me?" she slurred, looking around and swaying in place a bit. "M'fine, c'mrade. Just tryin' to get to the ki—tchen."

"Rose, you're drunk."

" _You're_ drunk." She poked his chest and noticed his coat. It was wet and worn and— "You're, like, a cowboy."

"What? Rose, what are you talking about?"

"This duster." Her fingers grabbed one of the lapels and shook it. The dark brown leather was cold. "You don't wear a normal jjjjacket like—" Hiccup. "Like the rest of us. You wear this. Cowboys wear this. That makes _you_ a _cowboy_. I think. It's a duster, right?"

Karolina joined them on the stairs. "What's going on?"

"Your son and his friends are probably in similar states of inebriation," Dimitri said, nodding in the general direction of Paul's room, and without needing the invitation to do so, Karolina finished climbing the stairs, two at a time, and shouting at her son in Russian the whole way up and around the corner.

"You're so _cold_!" Rose said, putting her hands on his red cheeks, having finally realized that by being two steps above him, they were at eye level. Actually, she might have been slightly above him. It was hard to tell. Vodka.

"I was walking one of my mother's friends to her car," Dimitri replied.

"Of course you were." Rose started nodding and didn't stop, liking the way it felt. The motion was the smoothest thing she'd felt in a long time. "Because you're a sad, surly warlord, but you're, like-" Hiccup. "A _noble_ , sad, surly warlord."

"When did you last eat?" Dimitri asked. His hands were still gently yet firmly wrapped around Rose's arms. Her hands had dropped to his chest where his duster was open. Faintly, she registered that his button-down was much warmer than his coat.

She thought about it and then gave a dramatic shrug. "I have . . . blegh, shit, I . . . I have . . . no clue!"

"Come on." He turned halfway and then looked at her. "Do you need help down the rest of the stairs?" When she started nodding enthusiastically again, he wrapped a supportive arm around her waist and got her down to the foyer where a worried Olena was waiting, asking Dimitri something in Russian as they approached. He replied in a soothing, quiet tone that Rose was too drunk to pay attention to beyond the fact that she never wanted him to stop talking.

She leaned into his side, enjoying his arm around her, and let the two put her coat for her, stumbling in place when one of the sleeves got tangled. Dimitri's arm returned, though it was less warm now, and they were out the door before Rose could see Olena's reaction.

"Where we going?" Rose asked as they — he steadily, she barely — walked down the stone path. A lot of the party had cleared out or gone inside; there was no one in the front yard anymore.

"To get you some food," Dimitri said.

"But there's food inside," Rose argued, trying to point back to the house and stumbling in the process.

"You'll appreciate this food, trust me," Dimitri said, leading them down the street to the car that was only technically his.

Ten minutes later, they pulled up to a KFC. Rose's jaw dropped. "You _have_ these?"

She wanted to melt inside Dimitri's grin. "Yeah. Contrary to what my mother would have you believe, it's not all cabbage and sausage."

"You were holding—" Hiccup. "Holding out on me, Dimitri. I'm disappointed in you."

"My sincerest apologies."

Rose's brow furrowed. "I'm too drunk to tell if you're joking."

Dimitri didn't answer and instead opened his door, pressed the lock button for all four, and handed her the keys. "Don't let anyone take these," he said, voice low and face close to hers.

"I won't," she stage-whispered back, holding them close to her chest.

Time passed weirdly. He darted inside, got food, and came back before she could feel like he'd been gone any longer than a minute or so.

Back inside the car, he handed Rose her own bag. "I made an educated guess, but—"

"There're two meals!" Rose's face lit up when she looked inside. "You're the _best_. Lissa never lets me get two."

"I'm almost positive that's not how it happens," Dimitri said, smiling as she launched into eating.

If she were sober, she would've tried to scale back her sexually charged groans — not because it was the socially acceptable thing for a "lady" but because she didn't want to further complicate an already weird relationship. Drunk Rose didn't give two shits about anything, though, and she made no effort to hide how enamored she was with the fried chicken.

"This is just—" Two bites. Long chug of Pepsi. "So good. Oh my God. I think I love you."

It took half a beat for Dimitri to respond, but Rose was too far gone to notice. "Was that to me or the chicken?"

Rose squinted at the food in her hands. A drunk grin drew across her face, and she held up the drumstick. "Definitely the chicken, comrade, don't worry." She settled back into the seat and stared at the brightly lit restaurant in front of them. "You know, I haven't told anyone I love them. Like, romantically."

"No?"

"No. Well — no, no I didn't. I never said the words aloud. It's a long story. Have you?"

"Once."

She lolled her head to look at him, taking in his features as he contemplated his fries. He looked lost, and the thought that she wanted to join him wherever he was kind of flitted across her mind without her really recognizing it. "Did you actually love her, whoever she was?"

"I don't know. I think I did." He tapped the small container of fries. "Sometimes I think I didn't because when we ended things, I was just relieved to be free. Other times I do legitimately miss her, but I tend to think it's because I miss the reason we had a connection in the first place more than her or the relationship."

Pause. "I have no idea why I'm telling you this."

She slumped down and propped her feet up on the dashboard, vaguely aware she hadn't changed out of her slippers. "It's 'cause I'm drunk and everything comes out when you're drunk." She could feel his eyes watching her and, torn on whether or not to meet his gaze, she chose to reach for her fries from the bag on the floor. "I've been in two real relationships, but both of them were guys I was more friends with than anything. One of them is still a good friend. The other one died."

"I'm so sorry, Rose."

She made a noncommittal noise and popped a couple fries in her mouth. The grease was sobering her up a bit and she found she could get through whole sentences without slurring, more or less. "It was during the attack on the academy. You probably heard about it." She figured Dimitri nodded, so she kept going. "I really only started dating him because he was really into me and I'd never really dated anyone and it felt nice to be wanted, you know? And it was kind of expected, too. I mean, all our friends figured our flirting meant something, which it didn't because I flirted with everyone back then. Anyway, we'd been sneaking around campus after hours one night which was dumb because I was still on probation, but we broke curfew anyway, and we were on our way back to the dorm to try to get some sleep before breakfast when someone jumped him. It took me a second to realize it was a Strigoi." She stopped, staring out the windshield and swimming in nightmares.

"My last image of him," she said slowly, punctuating each word with a jab of her fry in the air, "Was the Strigoi dragging him off into the woods. He screamed my name the entire way." She was transfixed, the memories making her feel completely sober for a moment. "I was frozen solid for a good thirty seconds, until I heard another scream, farther off, near the Moroi dorms. I would've panicked and run to Lissa if I didn't have the bond with her. I saw she was safe — awake and terrified, but safe nonetheless — so I took off and fled for the guardian offices. When I got there, I found one of my instructors. Later, someone told me I managed to outrun a second Strigoi that was coming for me, but at the time I hadn't noticed him." She paused, shaking herself, and popped another fry. "The rest is in the official report."

When something grabbed her hand, she jumped, only relaxing when she saw it was just Dimitri's fingers weaving through with hers and gripping tight.

"I am so sorry you had to go through that, Rose, and at such a young age." His face was earnest, his thumb stroking the back of hers in comfort.

She shrugged. "I was in therapy for a while. Lissa made me go. I was already dedicated to my extra sessions with Alberta so I could graduate on time, but after that . . . I lost myself in them. I was probably in the gym more than anywhere else, and you already know how much I value my sleep." Beat. "If you ask my friends, they'll say I changed after that, and that I haven't really gotten back to my old self since."

"Did they ever—?"

"Yeah." Her voice cracked and she swallowed, squeezing his hand, surprised to find strength in the small action. "My mom had been called in to help with guardian numbers. It took a few days, but I convinced her we needed to at least see if we could find him, because if we found him, we could return him to his family for a proper burial. I think my anxiety attack made her relent." The unspoken _no body meant he'd been turned_ hung in the air. "There was a cave system just north of the school where they'd gathered and snacked. And there, we . . . we found—"

She swallowed hard. "It was a huge relief to me. I was lucky, though. I was able to get my closure. A lot of people weren't. They took a lot of us. Twelve or thirteen."

She fell silent and let go of his hand, much as she didn't want to, and focused on finishing her food. He took her lead, and once he balled up his trash and put it in her bag, her turned the engine over and drove them back to the house.

* * *

"I hate vodka," Rose mumbled as she traded her blouse for the sleep shirt Dimitri held out to her. "I hate stairs, too, but vodka more."

He eyed her sitting on the bed and tossed her shirt in the hamper. "That's why we don't play poker with teenage boys."

"It was blackjack," she said automatically, half-naked and staring at her shirt. She held it up to him. "I don't know how to put this on."

She pouted when he kept his eyes fixed on top of her head. A tiny voice was talking about how great it'd be if he were taking her shirt _off_ , and it was honestly really persuasive.

"Do you need help with your sweatpants, too?" he asked, still not looking at her.

"Probably." Did she have an ulterior motive? Probably. Was she still really drunk? Hell yeah she was.

He still helped her, though, being the noble, sad, surly warlord he was, and she faceplanted into her pillow while he changed, trying to stabilize the spinning world underneath her. He turned off the overhead light and pulled the blankets from underneath her to drape over her. She shifted on to her side as he got in, squinting at him in the moonlight.

"Do you believe in fate?" she asked.

His eyes widened and he stopped mid-motion, leg bent and covers held in the air. "Um—"

"Do you believe in fate?" she repeated, bunching her pillow up underneath her head to prop herself up a bit. It helped with the rocking motion she felt.

"Yes," he said slowly, clearly unsure where she was going with her thoughts. "Mostly because of my grandmother. Why?"

"Because I've known you a week and it's felt like a lifetime," she replied simply and quietly. "I don't know. I feel like we were always meant to meet. Nothing else could explain why I'm so comfortable with you."

He finished getting into bed, sliding down on his side to face her. His bent knees bumped hers and a shot of heat ran through her at the contact when he didn't pull away. "I see," he said cautiously.

"And because I've told you things not even Lissa knows."

". . . Really?"

"She doesn't know the story about Mason. Not all those details. My therapist does, but she doesn't count."

"I'm not sure what to say."

"You don't have to say anything." She yawned. "I just thought you should know."

"Are you tired?"

"Probably. You're more interesting than sleep right now."

"I am?"

"Yeah."

She could've sworn his eyes flicked down to her lips for half a second but she was more than likely mistaken. "I'm sure you'll change your mind about that pretty quickly."

"Not gonna happen," she said, yawning again.

He shook his head. "Sleep, Roza. I'll be here in the morning."

Still, she fought the urge to close her eyes. "But you're leaving soon."

"In three weeks. That's three weeks of hanging out you'll still get, even if you go to sleep right now."

"I like it when you call me Roza."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. It sounds warm when you say it. Exotic."

"I think it's because to you I have an accent."

"To me? Dimitri, I hate to break it to you, but you _are_ the one with the accent."

"Excuse me," he said lightly. "To over a hundred and forty million people, I sound completely normal."

"Bullshit."

That got a laugh. "I'm dead serious, I promise."

Her grin was face-splitting. Her tongue reached out and wetted her lips as her eyes traced the slope of his nose, the arch of his brow, the depths of his eyes in the soft, muted light filtering through the window. "So I sound like I have an accent..."

"You do."

"What do I sound like?"

"Exotic," he teased. Then: "You speak lower than my mother or sisters, so it's like . . ." He shifted, tucking a hand under his pillow and resting the other one along the length of his body on top of the blankets. "It's like a deep, warm cup of tea on an autumn day. With hard, unrolled 'R's."

Something hot and lovely shot through her, sending little shockwaves out her fingers, and the feeling wasn't at all because of the fading alcohol. "That's the nicest compliment I've ever gotten. Thank you."

"You're welcome."

She giggled, shifting closer and pressing her socked feet against his bare ones so that the length of their shins touched. "I'm up for more compliments if you've got them."

"Now that's just blatant fishing," he pointed out, mouth quirking.

She shrugged her free shoulder. "You gave me a pole. I want some fish."

"That doesn't make any sense."

"I'm not hearing any compliments."

"I'm not giving you any more."

She scoffed, pretending to be offended. "Then you have to tell me something that you haven't told anybody else."

". . . Why?"

"Because I told you about Mason dying."

He was silent for a few minutes and she was worried she'd pushed him too far until he said, "I beat up my father when I was thirteen."

"You _what_?"

His nod was slow, his voice quiet but strong. "He was royal. He'd visit from time to time. I think my mother loved him, in the beginning. He's the father to all of my sisters, too, which is rare around here."

Sensing a horrible story, she grabbed his hand and squeezed, urging him on.

"He was always drunk. I can't remember a time when he wasn't drinking." His jaw tightened. "He liked my mother, but he didn't love her. I don't think he ever did. She was just a distraction from whatever problems he had. And he . . . he got physical. A lot. My sisters grew up terrified he'd eventually turn on them, but it was always just my mother. We'd hide upstairs, in Sonya's room, listening to the shouts and things breaking. When I was thirteen, I decided I'd had enough." He swallowed, staring at where she'd brought their joined hands up between them and laced her fingers between his. "He never came back after that."

"God, Dimitri, I didn't—" It struck her that was a lie, but the thought was gone before she could fully register it.

"No, Rose, it's okay," he said. "We all have our struggles. They make us who we are. You shared a struggle and asked me to do the same, so I did. I don't think it's the right way of phrasing it, but I'm happy to share for you." He met her gaze. "I don't know why, but I have this feeling that I'd do anything you asked of me."

Like a hand pushing on her back, her mouth crashed against his with a ferocity that surprised her. Stiff at first, he hastily melted into the kiss, eyes sliding shut. He returned it with an intensity that left her breathless, sliding his hands in her hair, gripping tight. She arched forward, her own hand pressing into his back and the other trapped under her, lost herself in the feel of warm, dry lips against her own. The world tilted off its axis in the most pleasant, fiery way she'd ever felt. She nipped his mouth and he responded in kind by sucking her lower lip into his mouth long and hard, causing her to inhale harsh through her nose. It was, perhaps, the best kiss of her life.

A whine in the back of her throat broke the spell. He pulled away and she whimpered, chasing after him. "Roza." His voice was thick, gruff, full of everything she wanted him to continue.

"No, don't." Her eyes stayed shut.

"You've been drinking."

As if on cue, the spinning feeling hit her hard when she realized how in his space she was. He was right. Fuck. She sighed in defeat, tears welling up in her eyes.

"No, no, no, Roza, look at me," he whispered, untangling one of his hands from her hair and tilting her chin up with a finger. "I want you. Trust me, I do. Just not like this. Not when you've been drinking. Not when we've been sharing stories that put us in an already emotionally fragile state. It should be when we're capable of making decisions with a clear head."

"Doesn't make me any less frustrated," she replied quietly.

"I know. Me, too," he whispered. "Come here." And he pulled her into him, wrapping his arms around her and tucking her head under his chin. She tangled her legs with his. "I agree with you."

"On what?" she asked into his chest, relishing in the warmth.

"That it's only been a week but it's felt like so much longer."

She burrowed into his embrace, tucking her arms into her as close as she could manage to erase any gap between them. "It kind of terrifies me."

"Why?"

"Because I barely know you and all I want to do is spend every minute of every day with you. The times I'm with are the best parts of my day and when I'm not with you, all I do is look forward to when I can see you."

She could feel him nod, his chin digging into the top of her skull with the movement. "I was surprised by you that night we met."

"You were?"

"Mhm. It's not every day you're attacked in your own house." He laughed softly. "You've kept me on my toes ever since."

She smiled against his shirt. "I live to serve."

"And you're right — it has only been a week. Can you — please don't argue, like I have a feeling you're about to, okay?"

"Okay," she said, trying to keep an open mind.

"We don't know really know each other, which means we should probably take this slow. See where this goes on its own time, I think. Forget about the destination and just enjoy the ride. Would you — could you do that?"

She turned it over in her head, a valiant effort given how exhausted she was rapidly becoming. It didn't escape her how she was melting into his arms. Coherent thought was pretty much off the table at the moment. "I think I can do that. I'd rather have you than not."

She felt instead of heard his soft rumbles of laughter. "Go to sleep, Rose."

* * *

A few hours later, unable to fall asleep with the woman in his arms, Dimitri extracted himself from her grip and, despite the snow and below freezing temperature, went out for a run to clear his head — the first time he'd done such a thing since before Ivan Zeklos died.


	7. Chapter Seven

". . . And there were actual _garden bricks_ , Viktoria, like I'm not even kidding you."

Viktoria laughed. "Sounds like Grandmother had another dream."

"The least she could do is tell me about it. And wait until I'm not hungover to make me carry across town enough bricks to build the Great Wall of China."

Rose, in the kitchen, didn't see Dimitri laugh to himself halfway up the stairs where he paused on his way to the bathroom for a shower. Nor did she see the strange look Karolina shot her brother when she saw the smile on his face.

* * *

Even if they didn't talk after the night of his party, personal space between the two of them evaporated in just as much time.

Dinner was him knocking knees with her under the table and her playful glares dissolved into giggles hidden behind hands and curtains of hair in return. Watching TV meant her feet tucking under his leg when she was curled up in the corner of the sofa, and eventually he stopped looking up from the never-ending pile of battered Western novels he was rereading for probably the billionth time.

He would gently brush his hand against her on the back or shoulder to reach past her or get her attention; her hand found his during afternoon drives, running errands for his mother and giving others rides from work or to friends' houses.

If anyone noticed, they didn't say anything, not wanting to upset the very delicate peace that had quietly taken hold over the house.

* * *

The only thing she had a problem with was waking up. Going to sleep was fine — he teased her one night, calling her an _osminog_ , an octopus, because of how tightly she wound herself around him — but it was when day broke and her phone alarm went off that she'd wake up to a cold bed with him already awake and downstairs, freshly showered and dressed, helping with breakfast.

They also hadn't kissed again, but she knew that was coming in due time.

* * *

From: Marie Conta

To: Rosemarie Hathaway

Cc: HRM Vasilisa Dragomir, Hans Croft, <Royal Council>

Date: December 29 at 2:35

Subject: Russia Project

 

_Guardian Hathaway,_

_I wanted to touch base with you in the event you have not yet received the official email._

_Though you may not be aware, every member of the Moroi Royal Council is tasked with multiple projects in an effort to assist Her Majesty in administering policy and passing legislation. Occasionally these assignments shift to different Council members at Her Majesty's request and oftentimes, the reason(s) why remain confidential to non-Council members._

_I am writing to inform you that the project you are currently undertaking has undergone a change in supervision. Unfortunately, your security clearance does not grant you access to the details of these changes at this time._

_I have been forwarded your five previous reports and will be your primary contact for all future submissions. You will be hearing from me again, after the holidays, when I have had a chance to review what you have already submitted._

_I request that you keep to your twice-monthly schedule as that seems to be a sufficiently long enough time between reports. Report 6 is due 7 Jan, but as the Russian Christmas also falls on this day, I ask that you submit your field notes at any point that week. Following that, Report 7 will be due 21 Jan EST._

_After my perusal of each report when they come in to me, I will forward them to Her Majesty, who will choose which portions to declassify for the rest of the Council and Guardian Croft, as per her previous actions. This is simply a switch in the process that has already been put into place._

 

_Regards,_

_Princess Marie Conta_

* * *

It took Rose a few days to realize that she should've written down her conversation with Paul and his friends. When she went to go type it up, she found she was missing large chunks of the conversation, but she nevertheless put down as much as she could remember, frowning the whole time.

She also typed up Dimitri's story about his father, but the document in a separate folder titled 'D'.

A day later she went back and added in every story she could remember him telling her, each one in a different document, proof that he really had told her those things.

* * *

New Year's Eve truly was as much of a big deal as the family had made it out to be, and Rose was really starting to figure out that taking their hype seriously would help her from being caught off-guard by holiday enthusiasm.

The morning of the thirty-first, she woke up to Viktoria flying into the room and rifling through the closet like it was hers before Rose's alarm had the chance to go off.

"Can I help you?" Rose asked, annoyed at the chill that had set in from sleeping alone for the past few hours. She'd declared the mornings too cold and dark for running, preferring to sleep in almost every morning, a luxury she hadn't had since summer break during high school. Dimitri, it seemed to Rose, didn't have the same opinion.

"How do you not own a single dress?" Viktoria asked, moving to the dresser. "Not even a skirt? Nothing? All pants?" She stopped for a beat and shot Rose a withering look that the latter knew was ultimately harmless. "What kind of girl are you?"

"A girl who wears pants," Rose defended, tilting her head against the pillow to look at Viktoria.. "We exist and we're very real." _Your brother is very interested in one_ , her brain helpfully supplied.

"I don't know if they're going to be open." Viktoria had moved back to the closet, muttering under her breath in Russian. "No heels? Where's your case?"

Rose sat up, running a hand through her hair. "My what?"

"Case. You know, the thing that holds all your clothes when you travel."

"My suitcase?"

"Yes." Viktoria's patience seemed to be wearing thin.

"Under the bed."

Viktoria dived for the floor, dragging it out from underneath and flipped the top open, visibly dismayed at the lack of heels and dresses hiding inside. "I really doubt they'll be open. We'll have to go next week when they open again for Marina's party. The eighth, probably."

"Go where?" Rose asked, still trying to shake sleep off.

"Not important." Viktoria stood up from her squat. "You don't have anything suitable, so you'll have to borrow something of mine. I still have all my clothes from before I had the baby. Come."

Rose was then forcibly dragged out of bed and down the hall to the room that Karolina, Alex, and Sonya all shared, which looked like a bomb had gone off in it. Clothes and shoes and makeup were strewn everywhere while music played from speakers hidden somewhere in the mess. The older sisters stood in front of a mirror that had been propped up against the air mattress Viktoria had been sleeping on for the past two weeks, holding up dresses against themselves and chatting away in rapid Russian. Upon seeing Rose standing in the doorway, they immediately switched to English.

"Rose doesn't have anything," Viktoria announced over the sounds of some Russian singer belting out a pop song Rose had heard about a hundred times in the past week alone.

"Nothing?" Sonya asked dubiously, pushing her short hair behind her ears and turning in her spot in front of the body-length mirror, a sharp red dress swishing in the air with her.

"Not even a skirt."

At the negative reaction she got from the sisters, Rose threw her hands up in the air. "I don't see what the big deal is."

"Must be a cultural thing," Karolina said diplomatically, passing the items in her hands off to Viktoria and reaching for — to Rose's shock — a pack of cigarettes and a lighter buried under a pile of blouses. And then, with an unlit cigarette in the corner of her mouth, she sat up long enough to open the window behind her before dropping back to the bed and lighting up as if it weren't below freezing outside and she wore more than basic underwear.

 _These people are crazy_.

"I do it when I'm stressed," Karolina explained offhandedly at Rose's wary look, and when she caught sight the green dress Sonya was holding up a moment later, she said, "No, definitely not. Put it down. Or burn it. Anything that keeps it off your body."

"What? Why?" Sonya asked.

" _Because_ you were whisked off to Ibiza for a month this past summer by your rich _boyfriend_ —" And while Rose couldn't tell if Karolina disapproved or not, it would be safe to assume he was Moroi. "—so your skin tone doesn't match that shade anymore."

"It's been six months since I got back. My tan has definitely faded," Sonya argued.

Karolina and Viktoria shook their heads.

"Really?" Sonya asked, dropping the dress on a random pile of clothing and looking at the inside of her wrist.

"You're the darkest of us now," Karolina said sadly in between drags of nicotine, blowing smoke out the window.

" _Rebyata_ , what about Rose?" Viktoria asked, gesturing to her. "We can talk about your _papik_ some other time, Sonechko."

" _On nyet moy papik_ ," Sonya said, but the defense fell on deaf ears.

Rose herself was ready to run in the opposite direction. Playing Barbie was an item on a very short list of things that made her want to stab a fork in her hand rather than partake in. "I don't need to wear anything." She looked around. "Don't you guys have kids? Where are they?"

"The men have them," Sonya said, pulling a cream shift out of a closet that Rose was positive led to Narnia "Dimka in particular needs practice with small children."

Karolina had propped herself up against the wall with her legs stretched out across the full-sized bed and was eyeing Rose's figure. "No offense, Rose, but your hips are ridiculous. Vika, she'll have to wear something of yours. I'm too tall and Sonya is too narrow."

"Where did you—"

"Your old stuff is to the far right."

Viktoria carefully picked her way across to the opposite side of the room and started rifling through clothes. Sonya dropped the cream dress and reached for a black frock under a pile of clothing on the empty, smaller bed, gracefully sidestepping her sister in a practiced motion.

"I think the blue shift for dinner," Karolina said, flicking ash into a tray that was also now collecting snow flurries. The only light outside came from the other houses on the street as people began readying for the day; Baia had recently hit deep winter, pushing the sunrise back to late morning.

"You should wear that olive green a-line tonight, the one with the cap sleeves," Sonya told Karolina in a moment of sudden realization as she pulled the black frock on.

Karolina's eyes lit up. "You're right! Vika, can you find it? It's next to your old stuff."

Rose watched in amazement as an olive green dress went sailing through the air moments later, which Karolina caughtly deftly with her free hand. The scene vaguely reminded her of getting dressed up for events at with Lissa, though in comparison, things were understandably less insane — Lissa understood Rose only dressed up when the situation called for it — and since her coronation, Lissa's outfits and makeup were all predetermined by a stylist to keep her public image in line.

 _This is what life is like with sisters who are into this stuff_.

"Rose, here," a voice called, and it was only because of her guardian reflexes that she caught a cerulean dress before it hit her in the face.

"Do you have a push-up bra?" Viktoria asked, still facing the closet.

"No," Rose said slowly, holding the blue frock in front of her to inspect it.

"What's your size?" Karolina asked, reaching across her bed to grab the dress out of Sonya's hands before her sister could put it on, the last of her cigarette dangling from her mouth.

"Thirty-four C," Rose replied automatically, which made Sonya yelp and lunge for the large dresser next to the door behind Rose.

"This should fit," Sonya said before returning to the mirror.

To Rose's surprise, the fit was better than expected, though the open window meant taking off her clothes was awful.

"Now the dress," Viktoria said excitedly, pulling Sonya out of the way so Rose could see herself as she pulled the dress on.

"Yeah, that one," Viktoria said and the other two nodded enthusiastically.

It was somewhere between boxy and skintight — it showed off her figure without making a scene. The sleeves were flowy and cinched just above her wrists, and the skirt stopped mid-thigh. Sonya's bra did wonders for her chest, making Rose entertain the thought of stealing it for half a moment.

"What's your shoe size?"

"Eight," Rose said, knowing that number probably meant nothing to them.

"Mine again," Viktoria said, ducking into the bottom of the closet and coming up with dark grey flats. "These. I've got nude tights you can borrow, too."

In the time Rose had spent admiring how she looked, Karolina had pulled on the olive green dress, stubbed out her cigarette, and was sitting on a pile of clothes on Sonya's bed, pulling on tights. "She needs something for tonight, too," Karolina pointed out.

"Why, what's tonight?" Rose asked when Sonya motioned for Rose to pull off the dress. Sonya took it and draped it on the back of the desk chair over a light grey sweater dress.

"All the fun!" Viktoria explained, back to rifling through clothes as she rambled on. "I know Dimitri explained dinner to you the other day, but there's other stuff, too. The president gives a speech right before the midnight countdown and then after the clock chimes, everyone goes out. Humans don't live on our street, so we all know each other, and everyone goes to each other's houses, eating and drinking and having a good time all night — you'll love it, I promise. . . . _Oh._ "

"What?" her two sisters asked in unison.

"Do you remember that one dress I bought but then never wore because I found out I was pregnant and ended up putting on a lot of weight?"

"Yes," Sonya said, glancing at where Karolina had paused rifling through a stack of necklaces. The two followed Viktoria's gaze to Rose, who'd tuned the conversation out in favor of staring at herself in the mirror and trying to remember if she'd brought any panties that could pass for Victoria's Secret.

She looked up, unnerved by the both the silence and shared glint in their eyes. "What?"

"He'd kill us," Sonya said. "Correction. He _will_ kill us."

"We promised we wouldn't interfere," Karolina added.

Rose got the distinct impression they were referencing a conversation or two that she'd missed. "What?" she repeated a bit more forcefully.

"It's got long sleeves," Viktoria protested.

"The only part of her back it'll cover is her ass," Karolina said.

"And it's _bodycon_ ," Sonya said. "You nearly started the next world war with Grandmother when you brought it home."

"I'm fairly certain you turned her religious because of it," Karolina joked.

"Trust me on this one," Viktoria said, slowly handing the dress over to Rose to whom Viktoria instructed, "Don't put it on now. Later, in secret. Do your makeup light. Let the dress do all the talking."

"What are you not tell me?" Rose asked, slowly taking the dress.

"We may have been cornered by brother dearest," Viktoria said, tilting her head and twisting back and forth in place, like a small child caught stealing cookies.

"Who made us swear on our children we wouldn't tease you two," Sonya continued.

"Because something is clearly going on between you and him," Karolina added.

"Our _children_ , Rose," Viktoria emphasized.

"It was cruel," Sonya said airily.

"He wouldn't hurt them," Karolina said. "But I think it's the only way he could get across to all three of us how important it was that we _back off_." The last two words were directed at her sisters.

"Liquid eyeliner," Viktoria whispered to Rose, who, overwhelmed by this revelation, couldn't help but snort in response.

Sonya rolled her eyes. "He didn't tell us what's going on, just that he would like it if we kept our thoughts to ourselves."

"I think it's cute," Karolina said, going back to rifling through necklaces and apparently having given up on convincing her younger sisters to not interfere. "I saw him laughing the other day."

"You _what_?" Viktoria whipped around from the closet where she was looking for more shoes.

Karolina nodded, her smile bright with the best gossip of the year. "A week ago. It was _voluntary_."

"Shut. Up," Sonya said and Rose had to bite back a comment about how outdated the slang was. Viktoria murmured to Rose she could take the first dress off and put her sweatpants back on, and she raced to do so, suddenly cold again.

Karolina was still gleeful. "I told him once that he needed to stop trying to date Moroi women, that he needed a dhampir woman because he'd been ruined by us. He didn't argue. I see I was right."

Rose met Karolina's eyes as she pulled on her shirt, biting the inside of her cheek.

"What?" Karolina asked.

This wasn't enjoying the ride like Dimitri had asked her to do a week ago, but the thought had occurred to her more than once and it always managed to put a damper on her mood. "A relationship between two dhampirs is a fling. Anything between two guardians is unheard of. There's rules about that kind of thing we have to follow."

Maybe not completely. There'd been the case of Abby Badica's guardian running off to be with another guardian and live among humans in Rose's senior year. But otherwise her point stood.

She got three confused looks as a result. "What?"

"That doesn't make any sense," Viktoria said.

Rose stopped when it hit her. "Because you guys are surrounded by dhampirs; this is nothing new."

Viktoria shrugged. "I guess."

"I was a guardian until I got pregnant," Sonya said. "And I dated another guardian in the time that we both worked at the school." Then, realizing that this only confirmed Rose's point about dhampir relationships being a fling, she added, "Karo and Sasha have been together for years."

"We're practically married," Karolina added without looking up from her debate between two similar silver necklaces.

Had she offended them? "I'm sorry if I—"

Viktoria shoved a pair of nude platform heels into Rose's hands. "You come from a different world than us. You're much closer to Court than we are and you're best friends with the Queen. We can't imagine the public scrutiny you're under at home."

"Thanks," Rose said, taking the shoes.

"This," Karolina said, holding up one of long, thin chain necklace she'd extracted from the pile. "Wear this with the blue dress. Nothing with the black. Since we're going with it," she added, glaring at her sisters.

"I gather you didn't bring make-up, either," Viktoria said as Karolina stood and traded the olive green dress for a light grey one Rose had already seen her wear dozens of times. Rose shook her head.

"I think my stuff from the summer might work on your skin tone," Sonya said, grabbing three stuffed cosmetic bags and a stack of palettes from her bed. She pulled out a good assortment of products and waved Rose over. "You know how to put this stuff on, yes? Good. I'm sure Vika would do your makeup if you asked, but Alexei's going to be a nightmare getting dressed — he hates clothing, especially anything formal — so it's easier if you do it on your own."

"Yeah, I got it," Rose said. "Royal stylists don't care about the Queen's guardians looking nice. That's on us."

Sonya laughed. "I'm sure."

"Do you want to leave this stuff here, Rose?" Viktoria asked and Rose caught the question underneath: _Do you want to keep this a secret for now?_

"Yeah, if you don't mind." Dressing up was always fun, but she really wasn't getting why the whole thing had to be shrouded in so much secrecy.

Viktoria waved her off from where she sat on the floor digging through her own pile of makeup. "Come get dressed when we do."

"Don't wear the blue dress until dinner, though," Sonya advised, debating two different eyeshadow palettes. "More baking and cooking today. Mama likes feeding the world."

"Yeah, I picked up on that," Rose quipped, smiling to herself at the laughter she got in response.

_This is what it's like to have sisters._

* * *

**Sydney:** So is his hair real?

Rose's phone lit up next to the cake Katya was (sort of) helping her frost when the text came in. She stuck the knife in the bowl of buttercream, wiped her hands on her jeans, and snatched it before anyone else could see the notification. Around her, everyone was helping Olena pull together what was easily the millionth feast Rose had experienced in the past three months.

 **Rose:** What are you talking about?

 **Sydney:** My favor. No man has hair like that and can pull it off. Adrian certainly can't. He'd look like a wannabe classic rock star.

 **Rose:** Isn't it like two am for you?

 **Sydney:** I'm up writing a paper for my winter session class that I now regret ever taking.

 **Rose:** How's that going? It's art history, right?

 **Sydney:** You're avoiding my question about what his hair feels like.

 **Rose:** Why would I be touching his hair?

 **Sydney:** Because you've been making out with him.

 **Rose:** No I haven't.

 **Rose:** Where on earth did you get that idea?

 **Sydney:** Adrian said your aura was, and I quote, "brighter and more explosive than the bathroom after Eddie eats cheese" the other night, though I don't think that's the best metaphor.

 **Sydney:** He then clarified that your aura looks like mine whenever he and I are together.

"Hey, Thumb Festival," Alex said, pulling Rose from her focus and causing her to jump in the process. He nodded to Katya. "Nice job with the kid."

In the few minutes Rose had spent texting Sydney, Katya had managed to cover herself in frosting, a devilishly gleeful look on her face from all the attention she was getting.

Rose groaned. "This is exactly why I'm never having kids."

"I've got her, don't worry," Alex said, clasping Rose's shoulder for a moment. To his almost-niece, he raised his eyebrows and told her in Russian that a bath was calling her name. She replied with a squealy, laughing _nyet!_ when he scooped her up, complaining loudly when she stuck a frosted hand in his blond hair. On their way out of the kitchen, Karolina asked him if he could find Zoya and get both girls ready at the same time.

 **Sydney:** Rose?

"One of your friends back home?" Dimitri asked, abandoning his task across the table to help Rose salvage the cake.

"Yeah. A good friend, actually," Rose said, tapping out a quick reply.

 **Rose:** Sorry, four year olds and cakes don't mix.

 **Rose:** I have NOT been making out with him.

 **Sydney:** Sure you haven't.

She looked up to see he was clearly interested in hearing more. "It's kind of complicated. She came in handy when I was busy breaking out of jail and trying to find Lissa's quorum. We met on the road when her now-husband nearly ran her over with our stolen car." Laughing, she shook her head. "It's a crazy story how we got Lissa on the throne."

"Sounds like it."

For a moment, Rose was transfixed by how carefully Dimitri was spreading the frosting already on the cake, doing his best to make the most of what was left. "Yeah. Anyway, she's just checking in on me."

 **Adrian:** Sydney's now bothering *me* & wondering if you've told me anything.

"Oh my god," Rose huffed. To Dimitri: "I'll help you in a second."

 **Rose:** Sydney, no, it was just one kiss. A week ago. That's it.

 **Rose:** Yes, his hair is real.

 **Rose:** No, I haven't told Adrian anything.

 **Rose:** Go write your paper.

She stuffed her phone in her pocket and was about to get back to the cake when her messenger app buzzed again.

 **Adrian:** I just heard a loud huff, so I guess your Russian soap opera isn't as exciting as Sage and Mia have been making it out to be.

 **Rose:** It's really not.

 **Adrian:** I'm sorry. You deserve some fun. It's been a while.

 **Adrian:** btw if you get too drunk to remember later- happy new year!

She turned her phone off after Adrian's last text and then shoved it in her back pocket, wanting to be present with Dimitri. Her friends could wait. "Sorry. Where were we?"

 **[Unread]** **Sydney:** I completely forgot until Adrian just mentioned it to me, but Happy New Year!

* * *

" _Chto tiy delayesh_?" a young voice asked. _What are you doing?_

Rose's eyes flicked to the little girl's reflection in the mirror she was sat in front of. Zoya was watching her expectantly, hands clasped behind her bright red dress. Her long, light brown hair had been pulled back into a braid and, coupled with the opaque white tights and black strapped flats, made her look like something out of a picture book. Or a horror movie, Rose decided, blending brush paused mid-stroke against her forehead.

" _Rouz stavit na makiyazh, ostavte yeye v pokoy_ ," Karolina said, coming into the room and putting in earrings. _Rose is putting on makeup. Leave her alone._

The sisters had long since finished getting ready, but Rose was moving slower, a side effect of being out of practice with makeup.

Zoya looked disheartened by the news and made to leave when Rose picked up a blending brush and said to Karolina, "She's fine, she can stay."

"Really?" Karolina asked. "I'm impressed. A month ago, you flinched every time she had an outburst at dinner. Zoya, _Rouz imeyet dlya tebya syurpriz_." Karolina circled her face in the air. _Zoya, Rose has a surprise for you._ "Just a little. I trust you."

" _Kakoy syurpriz_?" Zoya asked cautiously, slowly coming to stand next to Rose, who traded one brush for another, dabbed in another palette, and lightly brushed at her temples with a knowing smile. _What's the surprise?_

" _Tiy naydete yesli tiy terpelivy_ ," Karolina said for Rose. _You'll find out if you're patient._

So Zoya waited, studying Rose's every movement as she opted not to wear eyeshadow and carefully drew a thin line of eyeliner, winging it slightly at the far corners of her eyes. The shade of lipstick Sonya had picked out — a light bronze, almost nude color — worked wonders despite her initial wariness, and when the cap clicked back on, she turned to the girl, her freshly washed hair falling over her shoulder. She patted her lap, having forgotten the word for "up". Zoya understood, though, and climbed up excitedly, having figured out what the surprise was.

" _Ya bolshaya devochka_ ," Zoya said, a smile on her face as Rose took the bag Karolina held out for her, pulling out a shade of blush that wouldn't be too far off from Zoya's cheeks being naturally rosy because of the cold. " _Kak tiy_." _I'm a big girl, like you._

" _Iy kra-krasivaya tozhe_ ," Rose added, cursing inwardly when she fumbled over one of the words. _And the prettiest, too._

That made Zoya beam, and she fell silent in the few minutes it took Rose to sweep a thin layer of blush over the girl's cheeks, carefully brush a light coat of mascara on her eyelashes, and dab two tiny dots of lip gloss on her lips, mimicking rubbing them together so that Zoya would do the same.

"Mama!" Zoya called excitedly, and she hopped off Rose's lap to go show her mother across the room, who'd been splitting her attention between watching her daughter and scrolling through something on her phone.

" _Krasivaya. Pokazat papulya_ ," Karolina cooed, kissing her daughter on the top of her head. _Beautiful, go show Daddy._

Zoya tore down the hallway shouting Alex's name, and Karolina watched her from the doorway, love and adoration settling across her face.

"She's growing on me," Rose said, cleaning up the small mess on the desk next to her. "I was like a mash-up of Katya and Zoya at their age."

Karolina nodded, still smiling. "I don't doubt it." She turned back to Rose. "Stand up, I want to see just how much trouble my sister has gotten me into."

She stood, already wondering why she agreed to six inch heels and a dress with less fabric than her swimsuit, but she jutted her hip out, striking a pose and faking an intense model stare. She didn't want a pep talk on being confident; she could find it within herself like always.

Karolina bit her lip, grinning, and kept nodding. "If you don't see me tomorrow, check the lake, because my brother dumped my body there."

"Oh," Sonya said, appearing in the doorway and taking in Rose with glittering eyes. "This is definitely interfering. Sorry, Karo."

"It's fine," Karolina said, sniffing like she didn't care. "I just have two kids, a loving boyfriend, and a steady job, not to mention a supportive family who listens to me. I'm sure I won't be missed."

Rose laughed, relaxing, and looked down to make sure she wouldn't trip when she started walking, her hair falling in front of her face for a moment. Viktoria appeared behind Sonya, her heels giving her enough extra height to see over her sister, and she whistled, causing Rose to look up with a wry smile. "'Vogue' just called," Viktoria joked, pushing past her sisters. "They want their cover girl back."

Rolling her eyes, Rose returned Viktoria's hug. "It does make me feel good," she admitted, catching sight of herself in the mirror behind her. It really did barely cover her ass like Karolina had said it would, but the tights gave her a sense of security against any impending wardrobe mishaps.

"It better," Karolina said, shaking her head. "Because I'm going to hell for this."

Alex joined the group then, having been looking for Karolina, and dramatically threw a hand over his eyes. "I'm sorry, I was looking for my family, but an angel has decided to grace our presence instead." He dropped his hand, his smile proud like a sibling's. "You look amazing, Rose. Mitya's about to have the best New Year's ever."

"Oh my _god_ ," Rose said, grabbing her phone off the desk and moving to exit the room. She was good about making innuendos, but being on the receiving end was still unfamiliar. "I'm _leaving_ to go be with the _normal_ people in this family."

Viktoria whistled again as Rose left, sticking her tongue out when Rose threw a parting, sultry look over her shoulder.

Downstairs, the reaction was just as she'd imagined. Everyone else was upstairs, except Paul, who'd gotten stuck with dish duty all break as punishment for getting drunk the night of the party, and Olena, who was busy with something on the stove in the kitchen, had already changed for the evening and didn't turn when Rose entered.

"Olena, did Sonya say where she put her extra clutch for me to borrow tonight?" Rose asked, looking down and trying to figure out if she could finagle her phone into her bra despite the neckline dipping low under her collarbone. She looked up when she heard the woman gasp quietly.

"Rose, _solnishka_ ," Olena breathed, hands over her mouth. She wrapped Rose up in a hug despite the now slightly awkward height difference. It'd been a toss up on how Olena might react; had the dress been on Viktoria, she was sure there would've been demands to go change. Olena pulled back, hands fluttering around Rose, unsure where to land. "You look gorgeous."

"Eh," Paul said, looking over his shoulder with a shit-eating grin. "She cleans up alright."

For a split second, Rose wondered if the urge to throw something at him for the comment was common to sibling relationships. She made a face at him and he made it back, immediately wincing when he dropped a pan and the metal clanged loudly against the sink. It was like having Christian around, if she were honest with herself.

"Sonya put it over here," Olena said, answering Rose's earlier question, grabbing a dark brown clutch off of a table that held flowers in warmer months. Inside, Rose found a duplicate tube of the lipstick she'd borrowed; a handwritten list of everyone's cell phone numbers along with the number for the house, Mark and Oksana, and several emergency numbers, including the Alchemist assigned to the region (even though she already had the majority of them in her phone); a pack of a gummy snacks Rose had quickly grown attached to; and, God help her, a fifty milliliter bottle of vodka with _to stay warm ;)_ scrawled across the label in marker.

She slipped her phone in, affection flooding her. It was something Lissa or Sydney would have done for her in a similar situation. It was something a sister would have done, and Rose, an only child, collected them in surrogates. Lately, she'd been feeling like one of the Belikov sisters, and everything she'd been loaned today only strengthened that.

"Mama, where did you—"

Rose turned as she slid the zipper shut on the clutch- to find Dimitri frozen in his own kitchen, staring at her like, well . . .

She couldn't decide on a good enough analogy. He'd seen her from the back first and she knew her hair, dark with a slight wave, covered everything the dress didn't, save the small dip inwards towards the bottom. And while her front was covered, the fabric was tight enough that it left nothing to the imagination. She was sure her legs seemed to go on for miles; Karolina had alluded to as much earlier when she'd first put it on.

He looked aroused and ready to kill simultaneously, and she shivered when he didn't break eye contact for a good, long minute — a minute that felt like an hour under his gaze. If his nephew and mother hadn't also been standing in the room, she might've quipped something along the lines of _see something you like, comrade?_ But they were, so she settled for holding the eye contact as Olena literally shook his arm to get his attention.

"What, Dimka?"

"I, um—" He swallowed and it seemed like it was physically painful to tear his eyes away from her. "Where did you put my ties when you packed up my stuff last summer?"

"They're in the top box on the left in my closet," Olena said, eyes darting between son and guest as something tangible crackled between them.

"Okay," Dimitri said, not moving and still drinking in Rose, who'd never stopped appreciating the way his black button-down stretched across his chest, or how the line of his waist was accented by how tightly his shirt had been tucked in, a sight she didn't get to see with his usual loose t-shirts.

 _I'm just curious_ , she told herself without really believing it.

"Paul," Olena whispered, jerking her head in the direction of her room, indicating he go find one for his uncle. Paul, to his credit, took one look at the scene in front of him, and dashed off. Olena made herself scarce by the stove again . . . not that either of them noticed.

"You look—" His mouth seemed dry and his voice caught in his throat, accent thicker than usual.

"I know," she said, shrugging a shoulder, mustering up some usual Rose Hathaway sass to chase away the intensity of how much she wanted to push him against the wall and never let him go. "I leave lots of guys speechless. It's a hazard of being near me."

His eyes darkened at that, like the idea of her with other guys wasn't something he wanted to think about, and quickly took the tie Paul brought back. It was colored a red so deep that it looked black. He started to put it on while looking torn about having to look away from her, so she solved the problem for him.

"Here, let me," she said softly, setting the clutch down on the table next to him, and batted his hands away from his neck. With her extra half a foot, her line of sight came up to his chin, a marked improvement from how often she usually was eye-level with his upper chest. Not that his chest was bad to look at or anything. It was just a nice change of view.

"You're a woman of many talents," he noted and she saw his gaze was still firmly fixed on her when she looked up through her lashes.

"Not really. Back home, my cooking starts and stops at mac and cheese. I only got my driver's license earlier this year. I can't not worry about Lissa all the time. I don't want to talk about the nightmare that was school growing up."

"Why not?" he asked and she tugged on the fabric roughly.

"I don't sit still well. I can't focus when someone's talking to me for too long, so I joke about the stuff I do hear to make up for it. I'm far more impulsive than I'd like to be. I didn't care about school unless it was novice-related, but that only really was true during my senior year. None of that adds up to a stellar track record." She slipped the front part through the last loop and tightened it against the hollow of his throat to what felt comfortable.

"I haven't noticed any of that," he murmured.

She smoothed the front down, her fingers lingering. "You didn't know me then. I've calmed down a lot. Besides, you seem to be my exception for a lot of things."

He cleared his throat. "Now that's something I _have_ noticed."

There was a loud thump from the other side of the wall, someone swearing, and a couple _shhh_ 's, which bursted their little bubble and pushed Dimitri back into his typical blank shell, the only emotion he let cross his face being irritation as his sisters sheepishly filed in. Alex brought up the rear with Alexei piggybacking, his face buried in Alex's neck, and the two small girls flanking him.

Karolina said something to Dimitri in Russian then that sounded like an apology, and he snapped back too fast for Rose to catch, which caused all four of them to burst into rapidfire Russian that Rose didn't even bother trying to follow. Viktoria looked appropriately cowed by whatever Dimitri said to her, though when he turned to Sonya, Viktoria winked at Rose behind his back. Above the din came a loud whistle and the conversation abruptly stopped, all eyes turning on Olena in one fluid motion.

"I would appreciate not ending this year with a fight for once," she said, and when she was met with mumbled apologies, she continued on.

"Your grandmother will be staying here. I'm going to be with Maria Vasilyevna and Svetlana Borisovna tonight," Olena explained (and Viktoria leaned over to whisper in Rose's ear that it was her annual New Year's Eve speech). "You're free to do whatever you want, but I ask you to not lose my grandchildren or I will be very upset with you in the morning. Don't call me if you get arrested because I am not going to come bail you out of jail and neither is your grandmother."

"Yeah, Vika," Alex called out and Viktoria made a face at him, leaving Rose was with the impression there was a story behind that rule.

Olena smiled then, eyes passing over her family. "It has been a good year for us. Vika is finishing school and Dimka is back to work."

Rose looked to Dimitri for his reaction and saw none that she could read, his face blank as he listened to his mother, and she brushed a finger against his wrist in support, not noticing how his other hand clenched in his pocket in response.

"Sonya and Karo continue to amaze me with the women they have become, and we welcomed _Sasha_ into the house this summer," she said, smiling when Paul high-fived Alex over the diminutive. "And we welcomed a newcomer this autumn. It feels like Rose has been with us for years." Olena's eyes were warm and Rose flushed a little, slightly uncomfortable with the attention. She glanced up when she felt a finger reciprocate a brush against the inside of her wrist, catching Dimitri quickly flashing his own smile. "And we will have her for nearly all of next year, which I am so grateful for. Rose, you have brought so much laughter and light to us that we have been missing these last few years, and I can't begin to explain how happy you've made my family and me since you arrived in October."

"Thank you," Rose whispered, blinking back welled up tears and giving Sonya a watery smile when she felt the other woman stretch behind Dimitri to give her a one-armed hug.

"Alright, that's all I have to say. Go have fun," Olena finished, shooing them all out of the kitchen. The foyer was a mess of children and adults wrangling each other into coats and scarves, and Rose and Dimitri hung back until only Sonya and Katya were left.

" _Braht_ , I think we'll be at the Bondarenko's all night," Sonya said, loosely wrapping a scarf around Katya's neck multiple times. "Katya's been getting on with Elena Maksimova lately, and you know her and the friend thing . . ."

Dimitri nodded, handing the borrowed clutch back to Rose after she'd flipped down the collar of the full-length peacoat Jill and Eddie had sent for Christmas. "We might stop by. Text me if Anton's in town. I need to ask him something."

"I will." Sonya was kneeling on the floor and attempting to force gloves on her uncooperative daughter. "What are you . . . ?"

Rose and Dimtiri exchanged a look, and Rose shrugged. There'd been a silent agreement that they would break off from the rest of the group and do their own thing.

"I think we're just going to see where the night takes us," Dimitri said, eyes still fixed on Rose.

Sonya snapped something at Katya when the girl tried to take her gloves off. "If I see the others, I'll let you know. Alexei's been pretty attached to Sasha lately, so I think Vika's tagging along with Karo and them to keep the boys together. I don't know where they're planning on going. Also, she asked me to ask you to keep watch for Paul. He said he's going over to his friend, Viktor's, and you know what happens when they're together."

"If I see any of them, I'll let you know," Dimitri said.

"Please," Sonya said. She zipped up her own coat and held her hand out to Katya. " _Gotov, malysh_?" _Ready, little one?_

Katya nodded and then waved to Rose and Dimitri as her mom led her outside into the chilly air.

"Are you going to be okay?" Dimitri asked, eyeing where her dress ended on her upper thigh.

"Yeah," Rose said, pulling the little bottle of vodka out of her clutch and teasingly waving it at him. "Sonya hooked me up."

Dimitri just shook his head and opened the door to follow Rose into the new year.


	8. Chapter Eight

At a half hour to three in the morning, Rose found herself buzzed enough to not feel the cold. Her arm was linked with Dimitri's as he led them towards a house at the end of the street, her laugh loud and bright when he screwed up the punchline of some joke he was telling, a result of one too many glasses of wine messing with his sequencing.

The house they were making their way to was owned by Polina Andropova, and when some of the older neighbors had been hesitant to explain how a dhampir woman in her mid-twenties could afford such a luxury without seeming to work, like, _ever_ , they dropped enough hints that if there was ever a chance of finding the kind of blood whore whom stereotypes were based on, Polina was her best bet.

When Rose outwardly expressed hesitance about going when Dimitri proposed the idea, he shook his head and told her that it was a dhampir-only gathering — and in any event, Moroi wives expected their husbands home for the holidays, so "tourism" was low at the moment.

Inwardly, she was somewhat disappointed in the party ultimately being of no use to her assignment — what would be the point in going? — but she plastered a smile on her face and replied that she'd love to accompany him.

Music was blaring out of the house when they arrived. The windows were open to help cool off inside, and it looked like someone had dug out several colored mini disco balls. It was loud and obnoxious and exactly what she expected from a college fraternity party.

"I know this doesn't seem like the kind of place you'd find me," Dimitri said into her ear as they walked up the front path. "But there's someone here I need to talk to."

A couple guys — guardians, she noted with surprise — were congregated just outside the door, blue plastic cups in hand. Already boisterous from whatever they'd been drinking, they got even more exuberant when they saw Dimitri.

" _Mitya_!" they chorused loudly, and Rose let go of Dimitri's arm so he could greet them, exchanging a round of hugs and kisses on the cheek.

" _Kto eta devushka_?" one of them asked and for a split second, Rose saw Dimitri look at her with a weird look akin to momentary panic. _Who's the girl?_

"Rose," she asserted, knowing exactly how to deal with guys like the ones in front of her.

" _Rouz_!" went another chorus and they reached out for fist bumps, each one glancing at Dimitri when she returned the gesture.

" _Anton vse yeshche zdes_?" Dimitri asked, clearly wanting to move the attention away from Rose. _Is Anton still here?_

One of the guys jerked his head towards the second level of the house. Another mimed slicing his neck open. A third muttered something profane enough that everyone around him _Ohhh_ 'd like he'd just delivered the greatest insult of all time.

"She'll leave if you show up," one said, still sober enough to speak English. "Especially with her," he added with a nod to Rose.

" _Spasibo_ ," Dimitri said and opened the door. When Rose went to follow him, the one to first acknowledge her jerked his chin at her, his eyes trailing her body in way that said he was clearly checking her out.

"Rose, you said?"

"Yeah," she said. She stopped mid-entrance, and Dimitri, too, turned to watch.

"Like Rose Hathaway, Rose?" Her last name came out sounding like _Khatavay_.

"Yeah," she repeated, now more curious than ever.

"You did all that shit with the Queen and stuff," one of the guys in the back said and his American accent surprised her.

She shrugged. "She's my best friend." Still expecting to get hit on, she asked, "Why?"

The first guy made a face. "Can you tell her the novice dorms at St. Basil's need an update?"

"Yeah," the American said. "They're pretty dingy and there's this funky smell on the third floor every time it gets humid."

She tossed her head back with her laugh. "I'll be sure to mention it."

"Thanks." The first guy turned to his friends, who'd loudly moved on to a new conversation, but then spun back around a second later, motioning for her to come closer. "Mitya's a good guy," he said quietly in her ear, which she thought was pretty good for a guy who was at peeing-in-the-front-yard levels of drunk. His breath reeked of vodka, confirming Rose's suspicions that the country drank nothing else. "He hasn't been out on New Year's in a long time, so you're clearly special to him if he's here and he's got you on his arm, you know?" He finished off the drink in his plastic cup. "Anyway, if you're serious about him — even a little — let him know, okay? Don't be like that other girl. She was a fucking bitch, and their breakup was about as bad for him as when Ivan died."

"So what you're saying is," Rose said into his ear, shifting her weight to press closer to him in an effort for Dimitri not to hear, "Break his heart and you'll kill me, even though you already consider me badass?"

"YES!" the guy exclaimed and Rose took a step back in response, laughing at his excitement. "See, you get it. Guys, she gets it!"

The rest of the guys cheered like they knew exactly what their friend was talking about.

"Go get a drink before you freeze your ass off," the guy said with a friendly smile and Rose rolled her eyes, finally following Dimitri into the much warmer house.

"That was Igor," Dimitri shouted in Rose's ear over the music as they pushed through the crowd. "We were roommates as novices." She caught his eye and nodded to show she understood, grabbing his elbow again as he scanned for his friend. After a few minutes of fruitless searching, Dimitri pushed through to the kitchen, grabbed one of many unopened bottles of what looked like champagne, and tapped some girl on the shoulder, shout-asking the same question to her as he had Igor. The girl pointed upstairs and Dimitri nodded. Rose followed, eyes not once leaving the dark corners of the rooms they passed through.

The second floor was much quieter. He took a second to lean against the banister and pull his hair out of its ponytail, almost as if he was catching his breath. "It's hard to turn off, isn't it?"

"What is?" she asked, eyes scanning the hallway. Four bedrooms. Three currently occupied. Another looked recently vacated. One bathroom, empty. Two other unidentified doors. One was probably a linen closet.

"Being a guardian," he said, his own eyes jumping between the closed doors and settling on the one at the far end of the hall.

"I don't think I've ever stopped since I graduated," she admitted.

"Me neither," he said, handing her the bottle of champagne and three cups he must have snagged behind her back. "Some would call that a problem."

"I've been told I need to get a life," she said, and she grinned with he laughed at that while retying his hair. "Multiple times."

"So have I," he said, taking the bottle and cups back.

He didn't knock on the door, instead walking right into the middle of a couple's fight between a guy Rose guessed to be the ever-elusive Anton and some girl who looked far too drunk for her own safety. Anton and the girl turned when the door opened, and when she saw Dimitri in the doorway, she threw her hands up in exasperation.

" _Mitya_ poya _vlyalsya. Razve tiy yego nazyvayete_?" the girl snapped. _Mitya_ would _show up. Did you call him?_ She then caught sight of Rose and scoffed. " _Tiy budesh fachit yeye tozhe_?" _You gonna fuck her, too?_

" _Roza eta so mnoy_ ," Dimitri growled. _Rose is with me._

Rose's head whipped away from the trainwreck in front of her, surprise flooding her at how quickly he'd been angered. Something burned deep in her at the fire in his eyes and the way his shoulders tightened like he was readying himself to take on a Strigoi and not a woman both deeply upset and wasted. Rose didn't catch whatever Anton said to the girl, but she seemed slightly placated and stormed out only half as intensely as Rose assumed she would.

Anton looked exhausted when Dimitri ushered Rose in and closed the door. He sat on the bed, head in his hands, and only looked up when Dimitri handed him a cup. "Thanks, Mitya."

Dimitri waved him off and Rose watched with amazement as he gracefully folded himself in one of the armchairs in front of his friend. "Anton, Rose. Rose, Anton. He was my partner the first few years after graduation."

She shook his hand and took the other armchair, her eyes locked on Dimitri as he set the bottle of champagne and two remaining cups on the tiny stand of a table between them. Her mind was spinning as she put the pieces together. He'd mentioned in passing once that he'd been home visiting his family when Ivan was attacked; that would've made Anton the guardian on duty at the time. Her gaze flitted to Anton for a second. He looked pretty good for a guy who'd once been on the brink of death.

"I don't know what I'm going to do about Annushka," Anton said, glancing at the door. He held out his cup for Dimitri to pour champagne into. "Her mom's back with that Tarus asshole and won't take the baby, so Annushka is freaking out. She's trying to convince her grandmother to at least _help_ her, but the woman's old, and _I_ feel like shit because I'm at the academy and can barely support myself, let alone three of us."

Dimitri was silent, his movements careful as he poured drinks. "I'm sure my mother knows someone who could help."

"Yeah?" Anton looked like Dimitri had just given him a thousand dollars in cold, hard cash, no questions asked or strings attached.

"Yeah. She loves doing that kind of thing. Rose, here."

She took the cup from him as she shrugged off her coat.

"It gives her something to do," Dimitri continued. "She's done it before. Hell, she's done it for my own family."

Anton looked thoughtful. "I'll ask Annushka if she wants to explore that. I can't imagine she'll say no. How's Vika, by the way?"

"Eager to be done with school, especially because of the age gap," Dimitri replied, a small, sardonic grin on his face. "But you already knew that."

"They need to start some kind of continuing education program," Anton said, avoiding Dimitri's last words. "With the number of girls who drop out in the final two years because of pregnancies and never finish . . . it would be successful here, I think. You should tell your Queen friend," he said with a tip of his cup at Rose.

She smiled politely. Would she ever not be associated with her friends back home? "I'll be sure to pass it along."

Anton returned his attention to Dimitri. "And Alexei?"

"He's grown attached to Sasha since Vika and I left in August," Dimitri said. "Which I predicted would happen, did I not?"

"You did."

"Vika asked me to come with her and Alexei to the city in April for his appointment. I was going to talk to you about this before the school let out for the holidays, but you know how . . . busy things became at the end there."

Anton nodded. "She found someone?"

"Yes. They were booked through the end of February, so she had to make the appointment for when we come home at Easter . . . " Dimitri looked worried and exhausted, his fingers clutching the cup harder with a stress that gave the conversation an air of faux lightness. "She doesn't mind making the trip for subsequent appointments. At this point, she's just looking for answers."

"What's up with Alexei?" Rose asked, curiosity getting the better of her. She unzipped her borrowed clutch and opened her voice recorder app, covering her action by pretending to check the time and redo her lipstick.

"He doesn't talk," Anton said.

"Selectively. He talks to Viktoria," Dimitri explained. "I've gotten him to say a few words in the past year or so, and I'm sure Sasha has heard something in the past few months. My sister says his language skills are developed — he just doesn't verbalize to her in public or anyone in general. Nobody noticed until Oksana mentioned her observation of it last spring."

Rose thought back on her previous interactions with Alexei and came to the realization that yeah, he hadn't actually said anything aloud to her. Strange that she'd needed someone else to point it out to her. She thought her observational skills were better than that, leaving her to wonder that if she'd missed _that_ , what else had gone unnoticed by her?

"You three can stay with me," Anton said, apparently having already figured out Dimitri's question. "I know anything like a hotel is out of the question, especially if Vika's having Alexei see a . . . _chto eto za slovo_?"

"Psychiatrist, I think," Dimitri said.

" _Eto nyeh problema_ if you stay at my apartment. I'm sure money is tight if she's paying for a psychiatrist."

"Thank you."

Downstairs, someone had lowered the music and a countdown was under way. Anton, suddenly struck by a thought, pulled out his phone and tapped on it a few times before reaching across the foot of space to prop it up against the bottle of champagne. He'd pulled up a livestream of Vladimir Putin giving a speech with a countdown in the corner. They fell silent, watching the muted speech as the shouts downstairs counted in time with the half a minute flicking away.

As she watched Moscow hurtle into a new calendar year, Rose was struck by how unexpected life could be — how last year, she'd been on her couch, splitting a bottle of wine with Mia; Adrian sprawled on the floor, his head in Sydney's lap and a two-and-a-half-year-old asleep on his chest; Lissa and Christian snuggled together at the other end of the couch, her on-duty guardians silently flanked out along the perimeter of the living room; Jill calling for Eddie to get his butt back into the room because the ball was about to drop and _I want my New Year's kiss, dammit_.

And then this year — her, in a stranger's bedroom in fucking _Siberia_ of all places in the world with champagne in a red plastic cup and an outfit on her body that wasn't her. Her, sitting across from a stranger and next to a man whom, if she was honest with herself, she really still didn't know but nevertheless was someone she was falling harder for with every passing day. Her, as far from Lissa geographically as she could get in this hemisphere.

A year ago, this was the last scenario she would've dreamed of if asked where she thought she'd be in the future. Of all the situations she could think of, the one least imaginable was the one that had come true. And if that were true of everything in life . . .

Where would she be at this time next year? Or the year after? In five, ten, twenty New Year's Eves from now?

Would Dimitri be there?

The counter ticked from six to five seconds and it struck her that for all her dates and flings and cobbled together love life, she'd never had a New Year's kiss.

Four.

She decided that she didn't really care about getting a kiss.

At three, she glanced at Dimitri, who'd already been looking at her.

Two and she changed her mind — she really did kind of care and she really did kind of want to be kissed.

One second left. She wondered if it was even a thing that Russians did.

The livestream cut away from Putin to a brilliant, colorful fireworks display over the Red Square, and she was shaken out of her thoughts by Anton raising his cup, a smile on his face.

" _S Noviym Godom, s noviym schastyem_ ," he said and she watched Dimitri raise his own cup to the toast with a slight, forced smile before tipping the drink back in one swallow.

"To a happy New Year," Anton translated for Rose, tapping his cup against hers. She mustered up a smile in turn and took a sip of her champagne. Anton drained what little was in his cup and crushed it in his hand, standing and tossing it in a small wastebasket by the bed. "My mother's probably too drunk to navigate her own house, so I should get going." He grabbed his phone and regarded Dimitri intensely, clasping his friend by the back of his neck. Downstairs, the music had picked back up with a throbbing deep bass that shook the floor. "I hope you find your happiness this year, Dimitri Radulovich. You've gone too long without it."

Something in Anton's blessing made Dimitri deflate, his usual alertness fading out of him. For a moment, there was nothing but a man desperate for relief hiding in places unknown to him still. He grabbed Anton's wrist and nodded. " _Spasibo_ , Tosha."

"I mean it," Anton said, not letting go. "Listen to your own wisdom this year. Find beauty. Find a reason to smile."

Dimitri briefly tightened his grip on Anton's wrist and a look of understanding passed between them. Satisfied, Anton nodded once and released Dimitri, flashing Rose an easy smile. "Hopefully this isn't our last meeting."

"I hope so too," Rose said, meaning it. Anton was the only other person who understood the grief Dimitri still held onto, and she was drowning in her need to know every tiny detail about him.

She watched him slip back into his usual edge as the door shut behind Anton, music blasting through the opening for a beat. Dimitri considered the champagne bottle and then capped it. "Are you okay?" he asked her.

"You're asking me?"

"You look like you've lost your dog."

Her brain helpfully reminded her that she was several minutes into the New Year — hours if she went by Baia's timezone — and while she wasn't going to say anything to push this thing with Dimitri, she was the closest she'd ever been to a midnight kiss and she was going to be really irritated if she didn't get one. He still hadn't kissed her since that night after the party. It was like — there was slow and then there was this chaste snail's pace they seemed to be going at.

She shook her head, standing and gathering her coat and clutch, not looking at him. "I'm fine."

"Rose, I can tell you're lying, and I've only known you for two weeks.."

"I'm fine," she repeated, voice firm. She might've snapped her words; she couldn't tell. Her earlier good mood had fizzled out, a quiet discontent settling into her bones. "I'm actually kind of tired."

The look on her face must've said something else because she watched his jaw tighten in frustration. After a terse moment, he said, "Yeah, me too."

The cold outside was refreshing and she took a deep inhale, head tilted back to watch her breath fog up her view of the stars above. The front yard was empty; Igor and his friends must have relocated.

"I miss this," she said.

Dimitri shut the door and finished pulling his duster on. "Miss what?"

"The stars." She took another step, unconsciously veering into the grass. Heels and metabolizing alcohol didn't go together. "I've been on a daylight schedule for most of the past four years while Lissa was in college, so I got used to sleeping at night. And then here . . . I don't really go out at night. I have no reason to. So it's been a while."

"This life comes with a lot of sacrifices," he said lowly. She tilted her head up to see him watching her.

"They come first," she said, repeating a mantra she'd grown up hearing and later committed to upon becoming a guardian.

His answer surprised her. "Not always."

"Not always?"

"No." He took a turn looking up at the stars. "Sometimes . . . sometimes you have to think about yourself. It's something I've struggled with."

"Since Ivan?"

"Yeah." Not elaborating further, he offered his elbow again, and she took it, not daring to take off her heels in the cold despite how badly her feet ached. She leaned her head against his shoulder as they ambled back onto the street and a silence fell over them.

Halfway to the house, she stopped, dropping his arm and slowly turning in place, surveying the busy street around them. She could've sworn she saw someone familiar across the road, but when Dimitri asked her what was wrong, she denied anything. As she was turning back around, Dimitri stiffened beside her.

In front of them was Abe, and if Rose hadn't had so much guardian training, she would've jumped a foot in the air from being shocked. As it were, she had to physically stop herself from walking away, in the mood for nothing more than crawling into bed.

"That dress looks a little small," he said without preamble, dark eyes flashing with disapproval. Rose rolled her eyes and made no move to close her coat.

"What, I suppose you want a 'Happy New Year' and you're just bothering everyone you know on the street?" she asked.

"You know Zmey?" Dimitri asked, clearly confused and Rose crossed her arms over her chest.

"We met once. Unfortunately," she added.

"I wouldn't call it unfortunate," he said. To Dimitri: "I was in the neighborhood. Your grandmother wanted to chat."

"Well, we don't," she said, taking the lead and brushing past Abe, who caught her by the arm, forcing her to a stop. Up close, he looked vaguely familiar, like she'd seen him more than their one chance encounter. She brushed off the weird thought. _Where had that come from?_

"Don't test me, Rose," he said calmly.

She jerked her arm back. "Don't manhandle me." Giving him a once over — his outfit was flashy, this time a striking combination of dark blue and white — she pulled out what was left for the evening of her fuck-the-world attitude and asked, "What's your interest in me anyway, old man? Don't you have anything better to do like go break some kneecaps for fun? You must get your rocks off on being all mysterious and aloof or something, because this stalking thing is getting creepy."

That got him to laugh. "I'm only checking in on you to make sure you're surviving this place." His eyes flicked over her. "I can see it's a founded worry."

"I'm doing just fine," she replied haughtily. She could feel Dimitri shift closer to her from behind, a steady knuckle pressed against her lower back.

"I'm sure you are," Abe replied sounding not at all convinced by himself. He let go of her arm and headed in the direction she and Dimitri had come from. Over his shoulder, he added, "Give your mother my regards."

"You don't know my mother," Rose said, trying her best to not come off confused as hell.

"Don't I?" Abe gave a parting smile, a smooth, clever thing edging his expression with virulence. "Until next time, Rose."

Rose stood in silence, eyes narrowed, and Dimitri finally spoke once Abe had slipped into the darkness of the night, his guardians trailing him. "That was weird. He's usually not so . . . warm."

"You've got a funny definition of warm, comrade," Rose said with a shiver. "Speaking of . . ."

"Yeah, let's go," Dimitri said, his tone betraying how worn out he sounded.

* * *

Loud conversation was spilling out of the kitchen when Rose and Dimitri got home.

"I'm going to speak with my grandmother," Dimitri said, taking Rose's coat from her as she slipped it off.

"I'm just gonna . . ." Rose trailed off, waving a hand in the general direction of the stairs.

"I'll meet you up there," he replied, disappearing into the kitchen. She took a moment to listen to Dimitri politely interrupt Yeva before dragging herself upstairs.

In the room, she pulled her hair up into a ponytail and took off the heels with a groan of relief, dropping them at the foot of the bed. She paused, revelling in the feel of her feet flat against carpeted floor for the first time in nearly five hours. Stretching her arms above her as she yawned, she rolled her head and dug her fingers into her shoulders, trying to massage out the soreness. Her phone was blinking at her with messages from friends, all wishing her well for the new year. She replied to Lissa and Sydney before plugging it in to charge, forgetting that the recorder app was still running in the background.

She was setting her alarm for the morning and mentally debating whether or not to leave dealing with her makeup in the morning when she heard Dimitri come in. He didn't hear him say anything while she finished fiddling with the phone and then set it down, asking over her shoulder without looking, "What, did you fall asleep standing up?"

He whined in the back of his throat, making her head shoot up when she remembered that in putting up her hair and taking off her coat, the backless portion of her dress had been fully exposed. The look on his face said he'd somehow (but still definitely) forgotten about that particular detail of her outfit.

"See something you like, comrade?" she teased, flashing a playful smirk before turning to double-check that her phone was set for the night.

"I know—" He stopped, his eyes burning through her dress.

She straightened, setting her phone on the nightstand and moving down to the foot of the bed. "You know what?"

"I know I said we should go slow," he said slowly. His posture was the stillest she'd ever seen him.

"You did. A week ago." She tilted her head, her ponytail brushing against her shoulder. "I'm not following, Dimitri."

"I haven't been able to stop looking at you all night," he admitted, still struggling with something, and he stepped closer without breaking eye contact.

Her gut lurched with heat, her arms suddenly like dead weights against her side. "Are you trying to say I'm pretty?" She'd figured out within a few days that he wasn't blatant about things like emotions and it took some time trying to needle his thoughts out of him.

"I think you're beautiful," he whispered, her breath catching as his finger ghosted her over her temple, through her hair, back to where it was bound up. "So beautiful it hurts sometimes."

"That really isn't slow."

"I know."

And then slowly he pulled her hair free, inch by smooth inch, and her head rolled back with the motion.

The world stopped. Her focus was honed in on nothing more than the rise and fall of his chest and the way he gazed at her like he wanted devour her from the inside out. The hair tie soundlessly slipped through his fingers and fell to the floor.

His free hand skimmed up the sides of her body, and she let him guide her head back up with the hand wound through her hair, her tongue wetting her lower lip in anticipation. " _This_ isn't slow," she murmured, her voice so low she wondered if she even said it aloud.

"I know," he said, the bass of his voice warming her. His eyes were dark, his pupils blown wide to the edge of his irises.

Fingers skimmed her throat, and she froze. An old ache — familiar but long unfelt, not since Adrian's hand and mouth grazed the same spot, halfway up her neck and below her ear — panged through her. Her pulse picked up speed and her head fell away from his hand, exposing the line of her throat as anticipation blazing through her for a bite that would never come.

"Bad spot?"

She had no idea how her voice was so steady, even if it was a bit breathless.

"Yeah," she said. "Something like that."

He hummed and his hand dropped down to the small of her back, pushing the fire inside her to explode into an inferno when he finally pulled her into a kiss.

It was just as intense as the first, the kind of soul-searing meeting of mouths that Rose had only heard about. Her arms snaked up around his neck and she moaned deep and low when tightened his grip on her waist, closing the last inch of space between them.

She didn't know how long they stood there but it felt timeless.

He tore his mouth from hers and buried his face in her shoulder, pressing open-mouthed kisses against her skin before sinking his teeth into the junction right below her neck. Her fingers found hold in his hair and when she gritted out a low _I want you_ , his response was to push her to the bed.

* * *

He was gorgeous, she decided after, pressed against him and tracing thoughtless patterns on his stomach. It may have been a ridiculous idea, but she wanted to gather all his clothes and ceremoniously burn them in the backyard. She was tempted to declare that covering up the body she was half laying on should be one of the deadly seven sins.

"I can hear you thinking," he said softly as his thumb stroked her hip.

She looked up, head still on his chest and her hand on his stomach went still. "I thought I'd feel different."

He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "What do you mean?"

"Keeping up and knowing what's going on . . . I don't know, I thought I'd feel more adult or something. My first few times were great, but I definitely fumbled my way through."

"I think everyone does."

"Did you?" she asked.

"My first few _years_ were awful," he said with a quiet laugh. "I lost my virginity when I was sixteen. I had no idea what I was doing for the longest time."

"You definitely know what you're doing now," she said, a flash of heat striking her chest when arousal flashed across his face. Wanting to see how far she could push him again, she slipped a leg over his and pushed herself up, biting her grinning lip at the reaction she got. "I know you have some more in you. Don't tell me you turned thirty and got _old_ , comrade," she teased.

"I would love to," he said, linking his fingers with hers. He brought them up to his mouth, brushing his lips over the back of her hand. "But I _am_ actually tired. It's probably almost six."

She yawned and inwardly cursed the timing of it. "When are you going back?"

"The twelfth."

"Then I guess you have a week and half to make it up to me." She kissed him deeply, smiling at his groan of protest.

"You're going to kill me," he murmured against her lips.

"I might, but you'll enjoy me all the way to your grave anyway," she said, and then she kissed him again, hand splayed across his cheek.


	9. Chapter Nine

Her happy bubble with Dimitri — a bubble filled with extra touches and hooded gazes and a lot more kissing than they'd been doing before — burst three days later.

From: Marie Conta

To: Rosemarie Hathaway

Cc: HRM Vasilisa Dragomir

Date: January 4 at 11:46

Subject: Project Reports

_Guardian Hathaway,_

_I have reviewed your current submitted reports._

_The quality is satisfactory, however they appear to be lacking in substance, contrary to my initial impression. Please submit your next report on Wednesday as usual and then adjust your schedule to submit every three weeks._

_Additionally, while you were originally discouraged from conducting formal interviews with the family in an effort to keep your findings in their natural context, it has come up that this may in fact be an appropriate avenue of investigation. More information will be forthcoming._

_This is also a reminder that you represent the Royal Council in the course of this assignment and that professionalism is to be maintained at all times._

_Regards,_

_Princess Marie Conta_

"Lissa?" Rose demanded when her friend answered the call.

"Rose? What's wrong? Is everything okay?"

"What the fuck is this email?" she asked, phone was pressed tight to her ear.

"What email?" There was another voice in the background and Rose dipped into the bond to see Lissa waving off her office assistant. She pulled herself back and slammed her usual block up, more interested in hearing what Lissa had to say than cheating by seeing it for herself.

"The one from Marie Conta." Rose grit her teeth, eyes scanning the last sentence over and over. "You know, as nice as she is on the surface, I'm really glad you beat her in the election."

The sounds of a keyboard clacking drifted over the line. "The one from—oh. That one."

"Yeah, that one. 'This is a reminder that you represent the Royal Council'? 'Professionalism is be maintained at all times'? Where the fuck is she getting this shit?"

"I was waiting for Council to get back in session before talking to you," Lissa said.

"Talk to me about what?" Rose asked, barely noticing Dimitri enter the room in the top of her peripherals.

"Your reports are shared with the whole Council and Hans Croft, you know that, right?"

"Yeah. What does that have—"

"I know Mia and others joked about it, but I kind of need to know . . . has anything happened with Dimitri Belikov that you aren't sharing in your reports?"

Rose stopped, eyes sliding from her laptop on the bed and up to where Dimitri was ducked in the bottom of his closet.

Should she lie? Tell the truth? What was going on?

"Uh . . . no," she said carefully, the color draining out of her face. Dimitri paused and slowly turned around, his duffel bag opened and clutched tightly in his hands. "Nothing has happened."

"Rose," Lissa warned.

"Nothing has happened," she repeated, this time more firmly.

"Are you telling me the truth?" Lissa asked. Rose didn't need the bond to see Lissa's disapproving look. She had enough memories to call it up in her mind's eye.

"Yes," Rose said, this time a bit more confident. The fight had left her. She'd called the office number per their deal after Lissa's coronation (work phone for work, personal phone for personal) which meant there was a chance the conversation was being recorded — a measure Lissa herself had put in place in the interest of keeping her politics open and accessible to the public. Now Rose was beginning to regret calling Lissa at work, professional policies be damned. "Nothing has occurred between me and Dimitri."

He raised an eyebrow. Rose ignored him.

"Why am I getting the third degree on this?" she asked.

Lissa's pause was long enough to make Rose start to worry. "There's been a . . . shift in your reports," she said.

Panic beginning to seep in, Rose hurriedly pulled up the documents she'd already submitted. "What kind of shift?"

"There's been some concern, from more than one person on the Council, that your objectivity faltered after Dimitri and his sister, Viktoria, came home from St. Basil's on their holiday break. Your last two reports are skewed in favor of whatever he's doing. And, more generally speaking, some have brought up how attached you seem to have become to the family."

Rose was silent as she skimmed through the five reports, heart sinking when she saw what Lissa was talking about. Report four alone had a whole page and a half out of three dedicated to Dimitri, which was particularly impressive given he hadn't even been home for a whole week by the time she wrote it.

"I hadn't even noticed," Rose said eventually, curling her leg against her body and resting her chin on her knee.

"Rufus Ozera called for your removal from the field, but he got shot down almost immediately. Still, he wasn't totally opposed. A lot of the others think his idea had some merit."

Rose's instinct was to defend herself, to say that she could separate herself from her work and that while she missed everyone terribly, she wanted to stay and finished what Lissa asked of her . . . but she didn't. Instead, a wave of heaviness hit her, a longing and a sadness and an itch to scream all wrapped together. She pressed her face against her knee and her phone tighter against her ear until it hurt and took a shuddering breath. Her block against the bond felt weaker than normal; it felt like some of Lissa's stress was slipping through, and it felt more intense than it probably was given the panic Rose was scrambling to quell inside her.

"I understand," she said quietly, picking her head and resolve back up. She glanced at Dimitri who still hadn't moved. "Wednesday's report will fix all that."

"Good. Call me later? I have something to ask you."

"Yeah, I will."

Rose hung up, phone falling onto the bed unceremoniously, and closed out of everything except Facebook, brimming with a fury teasing relentlessly at the edges of her anger.

"What was that about?" Dimitri asked. Rose didn't look up from her feed and took her time answering, liking a photo Christian had put up celebrating his attempt at paella the night before as she pondered how to answer.

"Nothing," she said eventually, forcing herself to take deep breaths. The block still wasn't as strong, no matter how hard she was trying to put extra support behind it. Mental fatigue was rapidly coming over her despite being late morning. "Work stuff."

"Can I ask why I came up?"

"Just drop it, okay?" Rose snapped. Her itch exploded, tearing at her chest. She needed to get out, to run, to scream, something, _anything_ instead of being trapped in a tiny bedroom in a house not big enough for everyone living in it in a country halfway across the world from home.

Her laptop slammed shut as she pushed it away. She started stuffing her feet into the nearest pair of shoes she could find, an extra burst of anger pushing through when she couldn't find her usual _tapochki_.

"Rose, what's—"

"Can you not?" she asked, wheeling around on him with a glare on her face and her hands on her hips. The sides of her vision were going dark as panic truly began to set in; she'd have to talk to Lissa about upping her meds when she called tonight, but that thought could wait. Getting out and away was more important.

She snatched her phone off the bed. "I just — I don't have time for this." She stormed past him, slamming the door behind her and stomping down the stairs. When she heard Dimitri following only a step behind her, she wasn't surprised.

"Rose, what the hell—"

She wheeled on him at the bottom of the stairs, ignoring the stir her commotion was causing. "I said drop it, Dimitri. You don't get to know everything about me. Can't you tell I just need some space right now?"

And with that, she flung the front door open and pulled it shut hard enough to rattle the windows, the darkness causing her to miss the look of shock and hurt on Dimitri's face.

* * *

The thing about January in Siberia was that it snowed (a lot) and it was (really, really) cold. She'd forgotten about that in the haze of her darkness until she was several streets away, her feet carrying her in a direction she'd taken many times but only once before on foot. Her sweater and coat were good at keeping her torso warm, but the cold bit at her face, nipping her cheeks and nose until they numbed into oblivion. She was suddenly grateful for keeping her hair long, a decision made solely because of an offhand joke told by Christian in high school about how she could probably whip her ponytail in the faces of Strigoi as a surprise tactic. Right now, her hair was bunched up in the top of her coat, keeping her neck shielded from the harsh steppe wind sweeping through Baia.

It was the path to the lake she was taking; she didn't realize this until she was halfway there. It'd been the same one Olena had sent her off to not three weeks prior, the one where Dimitri went to get away and clear his head. Every time she'd been here since, he'd driven them. Funny, then, that she ended up in the same place, walking because unlike some people, her dead friend left her with nightmares instead of cars.

The lake had solidly frozen over. It looked thick enough to walk on; cuts from ice skates indicated as much. Now, though, with the sun already beginning to set, nobody was around. Rose couldn't decide if it was because the town's dhampirs were wise enough to not be out when the sun was down to avoid any roaming Strigoi or if she was an idiot for storming out into an environment that was about to go from pretty chilly to dangerously cold very quickly.

She was still worked up when she reached the water's edge, though the physical exertion and crisp air had done a lot for clearing her head. No longer did she want to scream or throw things, but still the urge to run was overwhelming and she realized that she hadn't been running in a while. When she first arrived, she simply hadn't known the town well enough to feel comfortable going for a run on her own; after a while, she'd picked it up, and it had helped mix up her days when it felt like the monotony of small town life might suffocate her. Now, though, she was just too lazy to suit up for the cold weather, despite having run countless laps in similar conditions at school. She was sure if she poked her stomach, there'd be a softness that hadn't been there three months ago. The amount of bread she'd consumed since arriving in Russia probably was the cause of it if the running (or lack thereof) wasn't.

Her boots crunched against the snow, a loud intrusion on the silent landscape, and she took a deep breath, arms wrapped around herself. Taking Lissa's darkness wasn't anything new — the shadows would always be there, they'd learned — but after Lissa had agreed to go on antidepressants for at least the foreseeable future, it hadn't happened nearly as often or with the same intensity. In her current state, she was relieved Lissa had been able to understand her perspective; before they'd figured out the reason for Rose's mood swings, she'd nearly become murderous several times, taking fights too far, and she didn't want to get back to that place. In her saner times, she felt bad about keeping Lissa from her magic, but Lissa insisted she'd rather have both of them be mentally healthy.

Staring out at the frozen lake, she suddenly wished she had ice skates. Christmas of her senior year had been a weird affair — there'd been a Strigoi attack against a large portion of the Badica family, not far from the school, which had soured the whole break, despite the academy whisking everyone away to a ski resort citing safety concerns. Christian's aunt, Tasha, had come to visit, mostly out of worry for her nephew, and she'd snuck Lissa and Christian out to a pond near the edge of campus to go ice skating. The only reason Rose ever knew about it was because she'd seen it through the bond, and she'd unfairly been pissed about not getting invited for the longest time. Years had passed since, but she still thought about it whenever she saw frozen ponds or lakes. She hadn't gotten a chance to ice skate since then; Moroi Queens didn't often drop by local rinks for a fun afternoon.

Tentatively, she stepped onto the ice with her arms low and out to her sides, testing for sturdiness. She slid her feet along, mimicking the motions of skating, and for a second, she could pretend she was actually doing it.

Three feet out, she entertained the thought of how dangerous her situation was for a moment before deciding no, she didn't care. If something happened, it would at least add some flair to her currently dull, repetitive life.

As they always seemed to do lately, her thoughts drifted back to Dimitri. She'd known him for barely a month and already she knew she was in deep. He seemed to understand her in a way nobody else could grasp, let alone see or understand. She couldn't point to one specific thing that drew her to him — his instinct to help others, his gentleness towards her and his family when he got out of his head long enough to enjoy the scenery, even the fire she'd seen only in bed but knew translated to his work — it all knitted together to make up a man she knew everything and nothing about. Around him, she was comfortable, able to joke in a way she hadn't with anyone else since Mason's death.

Which was why the Royal Council sticking their noses into her business was so damn annoying, even if they were right. A relationship with Dimitri explicitly went against the guardian code of ethics.

At the end of the day, she knew her duty was to her assignment above all else. Getting along with the Belikovs was a stroke of luck, and she couldn't imagine how much worse she'd feel in general if she hadn't been able to assimilate so quickly with her host family. And yes, to some extent, it was important she become a friend and source of trust, but getting too enmeshed would compromise any and all of her objectivity. It had already begun to slip through. How could she report the facts when she was quick to defend Olena and her daughters against a stigma society had placed upon them?

Emotions made things complicated. She had an impossible enough time keeping her judgments out of her own personal life that to do the same for a situation in which she was rapidly becoming attached to everyone was a setup for failure. She was mature enough to own up to that, even if she didn't want to accept the realization.

Stray locks of hair whipped around her cheeks; she turned against the wind so it was out of her face. Baia had slipped behind the trees that seemed to encircle the area, set off far back from the lake, the pinpoint patches of darker bark the only color in the landscape. Everywhere she looked, there was white, white, white. Pure, untouched snow. More had started to fall in her walk out onto the lake.

Something ballooned in her chest. Loneliness? Contentment? She couldn't say.

Dimitri was a subject in the field. He couldn't be anything more. Not when approval of her findings would determine the age novices graduated at, nor when said approval would also sway how the entire Moroi world would proceed forward in increasing guardian numbers. She couldn't get involved with someone who could jeopardize the delicate balance Lissa had worked so hard to build in the entire Moroi political sphere over the past four years.

Was she being dramatic? Probably. But it didn't change the fact that she had a career and a people to think about before her own personal needs.

She was a good fifteen feet out when she made up her mind, and by the time she got back to land, she was both mentally and physically exhausted, wanting nothing more than a cup of something warm to drink and her illegal Netflix workaround.

* * *

Abe was waiting for her when she hit the main road. His brilliant white coat hid what Rose guessed was just as ridiculous as anything else she'd seen him wear; a bright rainbow scarf was her only indication. Too worn out from her rounds of thinking, she merely flashed him an irritated look and kept walking, knowing he'd keep up.

"Now I'm really starting to think you're stalking me," she said without much feeling, hands stuffed in her pockets to keep them as warm as she could without gloves.

He seemed to sense she wasn't in the mood for banter. "Not stalking, just worried," he said. "You look tired."

"You look like you need a mouth that says better things," she snapped, ignoring the momentary look of surprise on his face. Her usual fire wasn't in her words — the darkness had fizzled long ago, leaving her just as tired as Abe claimed she looked. She was numb from pushing more of her usual blocks against the bond, and she could hardly feel anything from Lissa, just the way she wanted.

"To answer your question from the other night," he said, brushing past her harshness, "I do lots of little things. Odd jobs, if you will."

"That's the oddest job description for a mobster I've ever heard," she quipped, earning her a sharp barking laugh that disturbed the air around them.

"Rose," he said, stopping. She came to a halt, still not looking at him and wanting to get this over with. "Here. You need this more than I do right now." He pulled the scarf from where it hung around the back of his neck and looped it around hers, her cold hair pressing against her skin and sending a shiver down her spine. She finally looked at him, her knit eyebrows deepening in more confusion when she saw genuine concern in his eyes.

"I—thank you," she said awkwardly, knowing that no matter how odd it was for some rich, shady Moroi to be giving her gifts, manners went a long way.

He nodded once and she watched him tuck away his emotions, hardening up so nobody else could see Zmey might feel something beyond smugness and dark satisfaction. "Get home safe. You're no use to me with your neck torn out."

Home. Where was home, exactly?

"I think I can manage a couple of Strigoi," she replied, irritation and gratitude swirling together in a confusing mess, and he while looked grim, he said nothing, instead flashing a look at his guardian and crossing the street without glancing back at her.

* * *

She slipped back into the house and was met with a barrage of concerned questions concerning how she was feeling, where she'd been, _you're safe now and that's all the matters, yes?_ The question marks scraped against her skin; her nerves were frayed, sandpaper raw from the intense swirl of the spirit darkness. She begged everyone off, feeling like shit for being so short when all they were was worried about her, and only managed to escape upstairs after reassuring Olena about half a dozen times she was fine and just needed to sleep it off.

Dimitri wasn't in the house — or if he was, he was doing an excellent job of making himself scarce.

She shucked off her boots by the door and crawled into bed with her clothes on, her brain shut off to keep from overthinking. A difficult conversation was on deck now, but she didn't want to deal with it just yet. Sleep sounded a lot nicer. Her body sank into the worn mattress, thick blankets and down comforter fooling her into thinking she was at peace.

Adrian pulled her into a spirit dream before her lingering over Dimitri could turn into a normal dream.

"You look like shit," he said by way of greeting, worry etched on his face. He paused. "Isn't it like three in the afternoon for you?"

They were in the living room of his and Sydney's apartment back at Court. The carpet under her feet was a welcome relief from all the hardwood floors of the Belikov house. She crossed her arms, her tolerance for bullshit sinking even further. "I can nap whenever I want. Why are _you_ asleep? It's about the same for you."

"I'm adopting the _siesta_ lifestyle. Marcus has finally rubbed off on me after all these years."

She tried and failed to raise an eyebrow, cursing herself that she didn't have it down yet.

"I'm in the middle of a manic episode, so I'm up and down at weird hours. I'm not here to talk about me, though."

"Did Lissa send you?" _Can I just be left alone?_ "I thought she would've been against you using any spirit you don't absolutely have to."

"She's more worried that she may have set you off than anything else," Adrian said, eyeing Rose in a way that said he was reading her aura. If she had to guess, there were probably flecks of darkness still wrapped around it. "She notices when you take her shadows, remember?"

It was a recent development, one that had come after years of Lissa working on being self-aware of her emotions. It was a relief for Rose, who no longer got bitched at when her bond-induced mood swings made her snap.

"I . . . managed," she said, flopping on his couch. At least Adrian's spirit dreams came fully furnished. "I always do."

"Don't let the homesickness eat you up too much, Rose," he said. "It's not healthy."

Had it been Dimitri, she would've made some quip about being lectured on mental health by him of all people. Instead, she squinted at Adrian, remembering what Sydney had said recently about Adrian reading her aura. Now he was calling her out on the moods she didn't want to face. "You're off your meds."

"Temporarily. It takes a while to wean off. The stuff I was on stopped working. It's why Declan's still with Sydney's mom."

"And you're doing okay?" She made a mental note to ask Sydney how she was doing. Caregivers tended to be forgotten when the ill were suffering.

He shrugged, his hand flipping something in his jeans pocket without pause. "For the most part, yeah. My money's under lock and key right now so I don't go impulse-buy cigarettes." From the look on his face, she could tell he didn't mind Sydney micromanaging the parts of his life that slipped into bad habits during the intermediary between drugs. Love was funny like that. "You sure you're managing? Spirit's darkness can be just as bad as my bipolar."

Rose opened her mouth and then shut it again, her chest constricting. "I'll be okay. It's . . . lonely, I guess, being out here, but I've always been alone. I'm used to it."

He looked heartbroken for a moment until something caught his attention. "Someone's waking you up," he said as the dream started to fade.

It was Karolina who woke her up, a hand on Rose's shoulder and gently calling her name. The sun had fully set and the bedside lamp was on, muted light warming Rose where she was buried in blankets.

She groaned at the intrusion, pushing herself up in bed despite feeling like she got hit by an emotional trainwreck. She spied a tray with soup, bread, and a steaming mug sitting on the table under the lamp. "What's that?"

"Supper," Karolina said. "Mama makes soup whenever someone's having a rough day."

"It's not borscht, is it?" Rose asked. She'd had it a couple times, mostly because Olena had made it and it would've been rude not to eat, but she wasn't crazy about it. The last time they'd had it, Rose ate half a bowl, feigned lack of appetite, and then convinced Dimitri to take her to McDonald's later that night.

Karolina shook her head. "It's got everything _but_ beets in it, to be perfectly honest with you."

Rose wasn't convinced until her stomach growled. She had a feeling there wouldn't be any more late-night McDonald's trips in her near future, so this was the best she had right now. "Thanks." When Karolina moved to leave, Rose shook her head. It went against her newfound decision to not be as close to the Belikovs, but the thought of eating weird soup by herself was enough to make her throat close up. "Can you . . . stay?" she asked.

"Of course," Karolina said like Rose was one of her own sisters asking the same thing. She settled back down where she'd been by Rose's legs.

It was quiet as Rose ate, wolfing down the soup and black bread like she hadn't eaten all day — which, really, she hadn't since breakfast that morning, now that she had a moment to think about it. Karolina pulled out her phone when it vibrated and after replying to whoever it was, she switched over to an app that looked like Facebook, occasionally squeezing Rose's ankle through the blankets when the younger woman seemed to zone out.

"You're always on that," Rose noted, trading the bowl for the tea, wrapping her hands around the warm mug.

"I guess," Karolina said, like she hadn't realized it before. "My ex-husband always has some bullshit going on that I must be aware of. I'd block his number if he wasn't legally bound to pay child support."

"You were married?" Rose asked. It was news to her; Alex was the only adult male in Karolina's life that ever came up.

Karolina nodded, mouth twisting. "I was seventeen when I had Paul, and I was naive enough to think his father was actually in love with me, despite being way older than me. We got married so he didn't have to constantly rely on visas to visit me." Her phone vibrated, and she scowled at the text. Ignoring it, she locked her phone screen and slid it back into her pocket. "He really only liked the fact that I was so willing to have sex with him. I was twenty by the time I wisened up and got a divorce. Zoya's father, I'm still friends with him, but Paul's father makes me want to shoot myself in the foot."

"Ah," Rose said, thinking back to when she was seventeen. Had some older guy shown interest in her at the time, even just for sex, she probably would've thought he was The One, too.

"But that's the past," Karolina said with an earnest look, grabbing one of Rose's hands between her own. "You're the one having a hard time right now, aren't you?"

Rose crumbled. It was a wonder it had taken so long, but as soon as Karolina asked her about herself — without comment on what she looked like — the floodgates opened. Tears spilled over her eyes, hot and furious, and she scrubbed at them, trying to stop before she really started. Instantly, Karolina scooted closer and pulled Rose into her arms, silent but steady in her comfort.

Her tears turned to loud sobs that wracked her body and she clutched Karolina's shirt like it was her lifeline. Vaguely, she felt Karolina take the mug of tea out of her hands. The sheer loneliness she felt was so magnified, she felt like she might never reach another person. Everyone she knew was almost six thousand miles away; there were people who cared about her maybe ten feet below her, but figuratively, she couldn't have felt any further from them.

Her job, the thing that said she wasn't supposed to get close to said family or else risk failure (and thus failing Lissa's trust in her), came first. Rose cried for a life she desperately craved, a life where she didn't have to operate in one mindset, a life where she could be allowed to choose and nurture her own personal relationships.

The sobs quieted down after a few minutes when she finally pushed out all of her negative energy. The arms around her, while much appreciated in the moment, were too feminine, too thin for her taste. She wanted to be held by much more muscled embrace, one that had held her against his body only a few nights ago. The voice whispering Russian in her ear needed to be deeper; the scent in her nose less flowery, more musky. She wanted Dimitri and the fact that it wasn't him and wouldn't be him if she wanted to be successful only prolonged the end of her crying jag.

Eventually, she felt calm enough to pull away, despite the wetness still in her eyes, and she gave a choked laugh when she saw the tear and snot-stained mess the shoulder of Karolina's dress had become.

"I'm sorry," she said, gesturing to giant wet spot.

" _Eto_?" Karolina pulled her dress off her collarbone to inspect and then waved her off. "I raised two children through infancy. This is nothing."

Rose slumped back against her pillow, legs curling up in front of her, a shield from the rest of the world. Wiping the last of her tears with the cuff of her sweater, Rose said, "Thank you, for bringing dinner. I needed it, I think."

"You probably did," Karolina agreed. "Negative emotions feed on empty stomachs." She reached forward and tucked a lock of Rose's hair behind her ear. "You'll be okay. This is more than likely just some mix of culture shock and homesickness. We've been waiting for you to experience it."

"I thought that stuff was, like, right away?" Rose started gnawing on the edge of her thumbnail, arms squished between her legs and torso. Her cocoon felt protective. "Not months into it."

"It hits everyone differently," Karolina said. "Vika gets homesick every time she goes back, two weeks in, on the dot. I always went through a spiral of sadness in late September, after everything was settled into a routine. Sonya never got homesick, except the one time she stayed at school over Easter when she was fighting with our mother about a boy."

Karolina didn't mention Dimitri. Part of Rose wanted to hear about him and part of her was grateful she didn't bring him up because it made starting the separation easier.

"How, um—" Rose sniffed. Even if _she_ couldn't be with Dimitri, she was still curious about: "You and Alex. It violates the code of ethics he swore by when he got his promise mark. How do you guys deal with that?"

"We don't," Karolina admitted, face starting to close off. "He hasn't returned to the field for several reasons, but the big one is our relationship."

"So you two—"

"Grandmother added valerian root to your _chai_ ," Karolina said abruptly, using the Russian word for tea. She handed the mug to Rose, not quite looking her in the eye. "She sensed you needed it. I'm not sure how much she added for you, but she usually puts in enough to knock out a horse, as you Americans say, so you're safe to assume that you'll be asleep in a few minutes."

Rose nodded her thanks, no longer strong enough to fight against Karolina's sudden switch to all things stoic and impersonal, and chugged half the mug down in one breath. Sleep — the kind without interference from Adrian or other various dreams — sounded wonderful.

"I'm down the hall if you need anything," Karolina said, standing. "Zoya's having a rough day, too, so I'm probably going to be with her and Katya all night." When Rose only nodded again, her focus fixated on something across the room as the tea took its drowsy hold, Karolina smoothed Rose's hair down, took the tray of empty dishes, and left her family's guest to her thoughts.


	10. Chapter Ten

At one point that night, the sixth, she surfaced from sleep long enough to feel Dimitri get into bed behind her. His hand hesitated over her, like he was unsure if he was allowed to touch, and when she didn't roll into his arms like she usually did, his hand dropped to the bed and he turned away from her.

She was too tired to cry about it.

* * *

On the seventh, Epiphany came roaring in like a bat out of hell, leaving Rose to only wonder if Russians ever got tired of cooking and baking and feasting.

(Probably not. There seemed to be nothing else to do in the winter besides complain and get drunk without all one's friends.)

There'd been a small gift exchange on New Year's — everyone had chipped in to give Rose an electric blanket with a handwritten note from Viktoria teasing her about how cold she complained about being all the time — but the big deal Rose was used to at the end of December came on Epiphany, a week into January, when the Russian Orthodox calendar declared the day Christmas.

("We grew up giving gifts on New Year's," Karolina explained the night before Epiphany, her voice straining in odd places from the exertion she poured into the dough she was kneading. "The little ones know about your Western Christmas, though, so our family has shifted.")

Gifts had been hard — Rose wasn't the type to get creative about what people wanted, so she struggled for two weeks before giving up and settling on scarves for everyone, volleying back a tease about her wanting to spread the warmth after the blanket she'd gotten.

Her own haul wasn't bad either. The kids had created a storybook of sorts, crayon and colored pencil drawings of her fighting Strigoi and being friends with the Queen, not to mention a couple scenes of her in Baia with them, at dinner and walking them to school with Alex when it'd been warmer. Olena and Yeva had knitted her a forest green sweater and a pair of matching socks, as per the tradition that Dimitri had said a few days prior would include her this year. Which made Rose wonder when exactly the two older women had made not only her set but nine others as well, given how often they were out in town or at friends' houses socializing.

From Karolina and Alex came a set of beautifully illustrated Russian-English dictionaries ("For you, but also the kids when you start lessons with them in January"); Sonya gave her a surprisingly nice dark brown leather-bound journal ("You're always writing on your laptop, I thought a change in medium would be nice"); Viktoria didn't bother hiding her manic grin when Rose unwrapped a bottle of Russian vodka with a scrawled-on sticky note attached that Dimitri later translated as "tomorrow — 0930;" and a book from Paul, who insisted she open it last, explaining that he had to read it for school this coming semester, so he was taking her down with him.

(It was an English copy of _Fathers and Sons_ by Ivan Turgenev. She eyed it and set it down on the small pile of gifts with a shake of her head. Paul had a penchant for giving people shit, just like she did, and the gift seemed to be no exception to that rule.)

Dimitri, who she'd been sitting cross-legged on the floor next to, leaned in to whisper in her ear that his gift was coming later.

"Same to you, comrade," she whispered back, igniting a fire in his eyes he had to tamp down almost immediately when Viktoria called him to attention.

* * *

"I think your sister's taking me shopping tomorrow," Rose muttered to Dimitri later that night, both on Tuesday dish duty. Everyone had cleared out after very helpfully stacking all the dishes in two big piles on the counter. Sonya had taken over putting leftovers away, shooing her mother to the living room to rest after a full day of cooking, but she hadn't lingered.

"What makes you say that?"

Rose snorted, handing him a soaped up and scrubbed off plate. "She stares at my jeans like they're a personal affront to her sensibilities." Hot water scalded her hands as she dunked another dirty plate in the half-filled sink, bubbles clinging to her forearm as she went at the thick ceramic with a worn out sponge. "I mean, you saw the dress she put me in for New Year's."

"I did," he said casually, like he hadn't almost literally ripped it off her with his bare hands.

"You sure about that?" she asked, flicking water at him with a flirty smile instead of giving the plate. Soapy drops hit him in the face, momentarily surprising him before he recovered and cupped water from his half of the sink and splashed it up at her, his own devilish grin lighting up his face. He'd underestimated the physics though, and her upper arm got drenched in the process, her long sleeve shirt soaking through instantly. Her jaw dropped.

"You did _not_ ," she breathed, eyes wide with mock horror. His grin stretched further in response and she dropped the plate and launched into a full-out soap-water attack on him, laughing and twisting in the small space against the sink, doing her best to get him wetter than her despite the foot difference in their height.

She called a truce when he trapped her against the counter, hips pressing hers tight into the off-white tile. His hands gripped the lip of the sink easily and when she bucked back to move, he chuckled and pushed into her harder, his chest warm against hers. An ache flared up between her legs and if she hadn't been so set on winning, she would've explored it further.

"Admit defeat, Rose," Dimitri murmured against her temple when she tried twisting again. "You know I've got you."

Her hair stuck to her face in wet, stringy clumps. Most of her shirt — a light grey color — was now see-through. She shifted as best she could to look at him, drenched like she was.

"I never admit defeat," she said.

His hands found her hips, fingers sliding just inside the front of her jeans and brushing the waistband of her panties, sending a shiver through her. "You certainly did when I pulled that dress off you the other night."

"You got rid of it fast," she said like her reaction should've been obvious. "I figured you liked it."

"I loved it," he corrected. "But I thought it would've looked better on the floor, and I was right."

Arrogance was rare for him, but with the way his tone dripped with it, she blew past aroused and straight into _fuck me now_ territory in a single breath. It caught her off guard, and the tiny voice that said this was taking three steps in the opposite direction of ending things had found a megaphone at some point, suddenly drowning out her need to push his hands farther down her pants. Her head dropped forward as she took a deep breath, trying to push past how dizzy he made her, and she twisted one last time, successfully sipping out of his grip. Coldness seeped in, the water finally cooling to the point of being gross.

Most of the dishes Dimitri had dried off were wet again — _Like you_ , the rebellious side of her whispered — and the counters and floor around the sink were a disaster. Not looking at him, she reached for a dry towel in a drawer by the sink and handed it to him. "We should get this cleaned up," she said after clearing her throat.

* * *

Dimitri took her weird turn in stride, and after the lights on the tree were turned off and the kids had been calmed down enough to go to bed, he sent her upstairs, needing to put together the first part of his gift in secret.

When he finally came up a little while later, she was sprawled out on the bed in sweatpants and an old gym shirt from St. Vladimir's, mindlessly checking the news back home on her social media feeds. He wordlessly passed her a mug and spoon he brought with him, and she sat up to take his offerings, eyes narrowing when she glanced inside the mug.

"What's this?"

"Hot chocolate," he said, changing into a t-shirt.

"This is pudding."

He laughed softly, sitting opposite her in the center of the bed. "It's not pudding, I promise."

"If it requires a spoon, it's pudding," she said, brandishing the utensil at him.

"Come here," he groaned affectionately, and the playful exasperation in his voice warmed her chest. He tugged on her ankle; she untangled her legs, draping them over his knees. "I'm glad you're feeling better," he said, taking the mug and spoon from her as she moved closer.

She didn't mention how earlier, before dinner, she'd taken a shower so she could have a few minutes of privacy to let herself drown in the exhilaration and anticipation of getting a gift so meaningful he didn't want the rest of his family to see the exchange. It dissolved into a ten minute crying jag when a burst of unidentifiable nervous excitement from Lissa across the bond pushed her over the edge.

"And even if you're not," he continued, like he'd heard her thoughts, "You're here in this moment with me and I'm grateful for that. You've been distant the past few days."

"I know," she said. The lamp on the bedside table behind him, warm and muted, cast shadows across his face.

"Here." He dipped the spoon through the creme and thick chocolate and held it up for her. "America's great, but Russia does this better."

She kept her gaze locked with his when she took the bite. It was warm and thick, but not at all like pudding — hands down, no questions about it, _this_ was the best chocolate dessert she'd ever had — and her eyes rolled into the back of her head when she finally swallowed, sitting back in bliss.

_You're going to miss this._

Another four steps backward. Could you break up with someone you weren't really dating?

He had an eyebrow raised when she came back to herself, licking her lips in anticipation of another bite. "Thoughts?"

"You guys win this one," she said and he laughed, taking a bite himself before scooping another for her again. "I'm serious. What's in that?"

"Chocolate."

She moaned softly when she swallowed, shaking her head at him. "You think you're funny."

"I do." The spoon clinked against the mug. "I'm not telling you, by the way. Can't go sharing _all_ my secrets with you right away."

"I swear, you take the whole tall, dark, and mysterious thing a little too seriously. Did you invent the trope?"

He laughed again, both at her words and the enthusiasm with which she took the spoon and mug when he offered it to her. "Last I checked, my name and picture are on the Wikipedia page."

Watching him take the bite off the spoon from her, she was struck with the thought that it would be so, so easy to fall in love with Dimitri Belikov.

Why did that thought not scare her as much as it should have?

He let her have the last bite, a tiny smear of chocolate catching on the corner of her mouth. He reached up and wiped it off, her lips parting to kiss the chocolate off the pad of his thumb. She watched with smug satisfaction as his breathing stopped when she sucked his finger into her mouth. His fingers curled against her jaw and a shiver ran through her.

She released his thumb. "I have a gift for you."

"So you said."

He set the mug and spoon on his bedside table with slightly trembling hands, and she kept eye contact as long as she could when she laid back and stretched off the side of the bed to reach under for the present she'd been hiding for the past two weeks. Her shirt slid up her stomach in the process; she could feel his gaze burning her exposed skin.

"All your Westerns are in Russian," she said, handing the wrapped package over. He started dismantling the snowflaked paper with the kind of care reserved for baptizing someone. "So I'm banking on you not having read any of these."

Four Western novels, all in English, slid out into his hands. He stared at them in wonder. "I, um." He cleared his throat. "Two of these are new. I've read the other two. Not in English, though. I . . . I lost them a year ago. Lost most of my collection, actually."

"Is that why books keep showing up in the mail every other day?"

He laughed, mostly to himself. "They're cheap this time of year." The wondrous look moved up to her face. "Thank you, Rose." He set them down next to the mug and spoon, then reached into the small drawer in the top of the bedside table, setting a small box in her hands.

It was slim and long, maybe an inch thick and wrapped in unassuming green paper. She slid her finger along the edges where they were untaped, unwilling to destroy how carefully he'd wrapped the gift. When the paper was off, she saw it was a jewelry box, white coated cardboard giving nothing away. She gave him one last glance, a nervous smile on her face before opening it.

Inside lay a necklace. Her heart stopped as she took it in, tracing the thin burnished red-gold chain down to the small charm at the bottom, an intricately shaped rose no bigger than the tip of her small finger. It was romantic and intimate, the kind of gift that one gave on major anniversaries or to a lifelong partner.

Her throat tightened as she fingered the charm. "I usually hate rose stuff," she said softly, eyes fixed on the necklace. It looked expensive. She silently hoped he didn't spend a lot of money on it. Most of his paychecks went to his family and she didn't want to take away from that.

"Usually?"

"Yeah, usually." She delicately picked the necklace up. It swung softly when she dropped the box next to them, the charm glinting in the low light. "This is my only exception. Thank you," she said, meeting his gaze. He was looking at her like she'd hung the stars and had graciously decided to offer him a hand so he could join her in the clouds. _Kind of like love_ , she thought, not as shocked by the thought as she should have been. She offered the necklace toward him. "Put it on?"

"Of course," he murmured, fingers brushing the inside of her wrist as he took the chain. She pushed up to fully sit in his lap, wanting him close and ignoring the voice that said _Don't, this is too close_.

She pulled her hair up and he blindly closed the clasp behind her neck, his breath hitching when it slid down to lay just above the top of her breasts. He ran his finger down the chain and hooked it around the bottom, swallowing the charm into his fist for a moment, laying claim to her and her heart.

His touch was molten fire, and it set her heart sprinting through her chest; his tenderness had her holding her breath as she tried to hold off tears. Never before had anybody treated her with such reverence, had touched her and held her like she was water slipping through their fingers.

He let go of the necklace and skimmed his hand down the center of her chest, resting over her heart and pushing one of her breasts up in the process. A dull throb beat steadily somewhere deep inside her, making her desperate for his hands to keep moving lower.

This wasn't the fast, heated sex a week prior, when champagne and the crushing, wide open field of possibilities offered by a new year had driven them together. This was real — no amount of adrenaline-induced thrills or kills could brighten the colors in her world the way his touch did.

She closed the last inch between them to brush her lips against his, a feather light promise of her feelings. The hand on her ribcage tightened, and she wrapped her fingers through his, helping him push, cup, grasp her breast tight until the heat between her legs turned molten.

She squeezed his hand, her head falling forward to his shoulder. His grip on her lower back was the only thing keeping her grounded as her mind spun with need, thoughts flying through free fall chanting _stay, stay, stay_. It didn't seem possible that her need to melt through his skin and take up residence inside of him was a real feeling . . . but she did want that, and finally she found what scared her.

Vulnerability was not a color she'd ever worn well before meeting him.

She turned her head, pressing her face into his neck, and gasped, wet and hot, when the hand on her back slid down to her ass, pulling her as close as physically possible. Her sweatpants felt too restricting, her shirt too in the way, so she reached behind her for the hem and tugged at it impatiently, giving up after her momentary struggle so he could do it for her. She stared into his eyes as the shirt dropped somewhere over the side of the bed, and she could only tremble under his gaze, too overcome to keep herself together.

Awe. Devotion. Want. Adoration.

 _Love_.

He unhooked her bra, movements whispering across her skin, and she could have sworn she felt him write something on her back with the tip of a finger. Her head swam with delirium; he could've traced her name and she wouldn't have recognized it.

The precipice was long gone. She was falling, and instead of searching for a way out like she always did, she let herself crash into him. For the first time in her life, she trusted someone else to catch her.

She leaned on his patience, reciprocating everything she got, and lost herself in the rhythm they made. Her nails dug into his skin, her cries broke against his neck. All she could do was hang on for her life, the strength of his body beautifully counterpointing her liquid, useless limbs.

It was making love, the thing people went to war for and erected statues to.

And finally — eventually — when she came, on his lap and tucked safe inside his arms, her world exploded into a supernova, a dizzying array of dazzling, sparkling lights, and she found that she didn't mind the cliché because it was true.

* * *

On the eighth, she woke up curled against him. He clutched her tight to him, his arm wrapped around her front and his fingers splayed against her necklace. She stayed in bed, drifting in and out of sleep until he woke up, and with a brush of his lips against her temple, the only following sound in the room was her breathy sigh when he slipped down between her thighs.

* * *

"What did my thermals ever do to you?" Rose asked, holding up the latest shirt Viktoria had thrown at her. It was satiny and probably cut down farther than Rose would have liked.

"Nothing," Viktoria replied as she flicked through articles of clothing on the rack. "But you can't go to Temno wearing Eddie Bauer. It's basically a crime against humanity."

She sounded like she'd been reading up on American fashion blogs. " _Temno_?" Rose asked instead, making a bad attempt at replicating the way Viktoria slurred the letters into one syllable.

"It's a club," Viktoria said nonchalantly and something icy pricked at Rose. A legitimate club or the kind that Rose's peers gossiped about? She made a mental note to look up the name. It sounded like the kind of thing that had a meaning behind it.

In front of her, Viktoria was still doing her best to appear inconspicuously at ease; she was failing miserably.

"Oh," Rose said, suddenly understanding the purpose of her Epiphany shopping spree.

Viktoria paused and gave her an assessing look. Rose caught sight of the girl's hands frozen above the rack and tried not to think about how a very masculine version of them had worshipped her the night before. "How liberal are you, exactly?" Viktoria asked.

"Um." _Really not a question I get asked._ "Pretty, I guess? I'm all for Moroi using offensive magic, if that's what you mean."

"How liberal are you on dhampir issues?"

What was this, twenty questions on her politics? "I think the age decree needs to be reversed because sixteen is too young to be pushed into the field." It occurred to her somewhere in the back of her mind that her objectivity in the assignment could be compromised if she let on how she felt about the very issue she was studying. She didn't want Viktoria to suddenly change her opinion on the topic, not when the other girl was hinting at something much larger.

"I think the current discussion on how to increase guardian numbers is generating a lot of good ideas," Rose settled on. That was nice and down the middle, right? "I think dhampirs need more representation. The Guardian Council is good and all, but the Royal Council still has a lot of say in matters that affect our people, and the Guardian Council really only focuses on guardian problems, not dhampir problems. Why?"

"What's your stance on blood whores?"

_Well that went zero to sixty real quick._

"What do you mean?"

"The stigma, the reputation we have. Where do you stand on it?"

Rose had never felt more out of depth in a conversation, nor so at risk of saying something that could offend someone who she had come to like a great deal in the past few weeks. Because Dimitri was so important to her, it was important to Rose that she have the acceptance of his entire family, too.

"I think it's unfounded for the most part," Rose said, choosing each word more carefully than Lissa did talking points in a speech. "The stereotype that blood whores are out on street corners seems to be a gross exaggeration, from what I've seen at least. My mom left me to be raised by the Academy system, so I have great respect for women like your mother because I know she sacrificed a lot to raise you guys." Rose relaxed a little, feeling more at ease since it appeared Viktoria was taking her opinions well. "I think, on the whole, people judge what they don't understand, and a lot of the judgments stem from Moroi more than dhampirs anyway, so it's probably just generations of jealous Moroi wives stirring up shit."

Viktoria laughed. "Doesn't do much for feminism," she said, "as right as you may be about jealousy." She began going through the clothes in front of her again, though much slower than the breakneck speed she was at earlier. "What would you say if I told you I was a blood whore? Like, the old-school kind."

"You mean you—" Rose stopped, trying to keep her eyes bugging out of her head. "I'm sorry, that was probably rude of me."

"It wasn't." Viktoria pulled out a drapey button down, held it up in the air against Rose, and nodded, setting it atop the pile in Rose's arms. "I've had worse reactions. But yeah, I am. I used to be embarrassed about it. My mother was like that, yes? I was young when my father stopped showing up — maybe four or so — but I was old enough to remember the bites on her neck. My sisters and I grew up promising we'd never end up like that."

"But you did," Rose said.

Viktoria looked thoughtful, pausing on a sleeveless shirt that had _Paris / New York / Milan_ scripted across the front. "We all did. Karo only did it once, the actual feeding part. She didn't like it. I think she was more curious than anything. All of us grow up curious, you know? It's so rarely talked about that it's like being fourteen and stealing alcohol from your parents. A dangerous, thrilling excitement." She was only 21 but to Rose, she looked so much older, reminiscing over some past innocent version of herself. "I'm not sure about Sonya or the frequency, but I know she's on this abstinence kick right now. Something about church and cleansing her soul. I don't really pay attention when the God talk starts."

"Neither do I," Rose said. Viktoria gave a brief smile before sliding back into her thoughts.

"And Dimitri doesn't sleep with Moroi, so we don't worry about him."

"Why not?" Rose asked, also going for casual and also failing really hard.

"They can't keep up." Viktoria's eyes shone with mirth. "He was talking to Karo about it once and I overheard. He said it's like holding a twig — afraid he might break them by accident, if they don't stab him to death with their hipbones first. Dhampir women tend to be thicker, more cushioned. And most have gone through some kind of training in school, so they've got the physicality to match."

Images of both New Year's and the previous night flashed through Rose's mind. Yeah, she could see where he was coming from. Sex with him was as much of a workout as her old cardio routine. She couldn't imagine a Moroi girl trying to match his pace.

Viktoria laughed and snapped her fingers in front of Rose's face. "I'm happy that you two are happy, but I don't need you turning into a puddle of goo on me in public."

"Sorry," Rose said, shaking her head to drag herself away from the memories. "We were talking about you."

"We were," Viktoria said. She didn't seem so far away anymore. "Anyway, I was sixteen the first time I let a guy bite me. Both of my best friends had already lost their virginities and I was so desperate to be like them. I cornered a boy in my math class who checked me out all the time. I thought I was being so old and adult that I didn't care that he didn't bother trying to make me come." Something flashed across her face, like she was internally chiding her younger self. "I got hooked, though. My father's an Ivashkov. I grew up genetically predisposed to addiction in a country that has some of the highest rates of alcoholism and teenage suicide in the world. Expecting anything different would've been stupid."

A beat in which Rose's eyes darted to Viktoria's neck, hidden mostly by her now pink hair. "I don't know what to say," Rose said. It was a lot to take in. She filed the _My father's an Ivashkov_ thing away for later.

"There's nothing to say." Viktoria shrugged. "I could be addicted to pills or coke. Blood can be replenished, skin healed. The only thing I'm ruining is my reputation, but that's only among people I don't give a shit about. I can still be a good mother to Alexei. I know it kills my brother because he was the unlucky one of us who got a front row seat to my mother's abuse, and now, to watch his little sister potentially fall down the same path. . . . My sisters can't judge, not when they've done the same thing themselves. My mother doesn't say anything. I know she knows, but . . ."

"It's hard to let go of," Rose said, thinking back to the two years she'd let Lissa feed from her and the endorphin rush she once got to look forward to twice a week. The jealousy when they first got back to St. Vladimir's and Lissa went back to the feeders. She'd let Jesse Zeklos bite her once, on a couch in her dorm, blindly jerking him off afterwards so he'd leave quicker so she could feel like shit for slipping. There'd been a couple close calls with Adrian, but she was able to restrain herself at the last minute. She wondered if Dimitri suspected anything with the way she stopped breathing in anticipation whenever his hands went anywhere near her neck. "Nothing comes close to comparing. And it's not just one-and-done. The first one hooks you in and the need hits you every time you end up back in that same spot." The familiar itch of wanting the bite creeped in, taking over every thought. She'd once described the feeling to Adrian as ants crawling up her bones. He'd replied that what she felt was anxiety. She still didn't know if it was the good or bad kind of anxiety.

Viktoria's face was frozen in shock, like Rose had just admitted to being a Strigoi in disguise. "You've done it?" she asked. Her voice was breathless with the excitement of meeting someone similar.

"Yeah," Rose said. "When Li—The Queen and I ran away, I hadn't thought about her needing blood. I just wanted to her to safety and I would figure everything out later. Two years, every Monday and Thursday."

"Now I don't know what to say," Viktoria said. "I thought you might've . . . I don't know what the English word is right now. Anyway, I could see it on your face when I was talking about. There's a longing that never quite leaves you."

"Yeah." Rose's voice cracked. Things were silent for a moment as Viktoria pretended to stare at the shirt in front of her.

"So, um, Temno," Viktoria started.

"I still want to go," Rose said quickly, despite her unease at the thought of what could happen in places like she was talking about. No matter how much she unconsciously craved another bite, lifelong doctrine about blood whores going to dens for sex and bites and how wrong the whole thing was swirled in the forefront of her thoughts. Even still: "It would help me with my work assignment, regardless of what I've done or what I think."

Viktoria nodded slowly. "I feel like I'm leading a cokehead to a crackhouse."

Rose winced at the wording. There had to be a better, less offensive metaphor but . . . there wasn't, the more she thought about it. From what she'd heard over the years, a Moroi bite was equivalent to having an orgasm while high on morphine, so Viktoria's comment wasn't too far of a stretch.

Was she an addict? Probably. Was she going to admit it to herself? Probably not. It'd been long enough since her last bite that she'd say she had fully quit if anyone asked, but Dimitri's unknowing brush against her throat a week ago had stirred up old feelings that hadn't quite gone away just yet.

Her brain hurt. She shook her head, as if pushing her thoughts to the side. She'd worry about them later.

"I also don't want to screw up anything between you and my brother," Viktoria added.

_Don't mention how you've been crying every time you're alone because being an adult and putting your career first sucks._

"There's—" She wasn't going to lie. She was sure they'd been quiet last night, but it probably wasn't that far of a leap as to what happened since Dimitri had said he'd give her his gift later. The necklace burned against her skin under her shirt and scarf. "I don't know. It's complicated right now."

"How so?" Viktoria asked, clearly happy to be talking about anything but herself and blood whoreism.

"We—I mean, we're into each other. There's feelings. Anyone can see it, I know that. But we haven't really talked about what we are. It's like really intense Netflix and chill, without the Netflix."

"He's smiling a lot more," Viktoria said, brushing past the reference she didn't understand. "I mean, on the rare occasions he _does_ smile, it's genuine. Trust me, he used to be King of the Grumps. Lots of storming out on conversations, always took teasing personally. A year or two ago, Sonya compared him to our father to his face during an argument and he snapped. It was ugly. Nobody got hurt or anything, but we were legitimately scared someone was going to. Mama kicked him out of the house for a few days. She said she didn't recognize her own son and she was ashamed she'd raised such a poor excuse for a man." Viktoria gave Rose a look that said the latter was a savior. "You've calmed him down. I've never seen my house so peaceful in my life, I swear."

Rose swallowed. She'd caught on to the fact that Dimitri was known for sad, broken moods that only swung deep into depression or anger and never anything higher than quiet despair that grayed out city blocks, but the idea that he used to get violent was jarring, though not wholly unexpected for someone who'd beat up their own father as a teenager.

Tears started coming on hot and fast before she could say anything in reply, threatening to spill over and really ruin everything. Viktoria, momentarily stunned by her reaction, was quick with a hug. "Rose, what's wrong?"

Pulling away, Rose wiped her eyes with the cashmere scarf Abe had given her a few days prior. "I—God, I feel so awful."

"What? Why?"

"Because!" Rose threw her free hand up in the air, not registering the pain when it smacked against the hangers on the rack next to her on its way back to her side. "I can't. I have to end things. Can you break up with someone you're kind of not really dating?"

Viktoria shook her head, extracting a small pack of tissues from her purse and pulling one out for Rose. "I have no clue. It does sound messy. Why do you have to end things?"

"Because fucking Marie Conta and her stupid Royal bullshit and her emails about professionalism!" Catching the Viktoria's confusion, Rose clarified. "I'm not supposed to be too involved with you guys. I'm here for work. I'm _working_ , all day, every day. Getting involved with someone close to what I'm here for is the quickest way for all of my findings to get thrown out the window under the reasoning that I can't possibly know what I'm talking about because my objectivity has been clouded. I've been threatened with being removed from the project if the project leader thinks I'm defensive or too subjective for her tastes." She spat out every word, dirt in her mouth. Tears still streamed down her face. "Like I can't be friends with you guys and wish I had your mom for my mom and fucking love the greatest person I've ever met and _still_ report on things with complete objectivity."

Viktoria's eyes were wide and Rose wondered what she'd just said. "What?"

"Nothing," Viktoria said. She squeezed Rose's hand, linking their fingers together for a moment. "Your situation seems really complicated and I'm sorry you have to go through it. Is this why you've been really down lately? Why you had that bad day on Monday?"

"Part of it." Rose nodded. "It's also triggering all the homesickness and culture shock I haven't been addressing yet."

"So what are you going to do?" Viktoria asked, leaning an arm against the rack of clothing.

"I have no fucking clue," Rose whispered, pressing her lips together tight.

"So, the way I see it," Viktoria said, "and correct me if I'm wrong, but you've got two options. You can keep sleeping and not talking about what is building between you and him, but from what you're telling me, it sounds like you risk being pulled from your assignment and whatever else that comes along with it—"

"Humiliation, a black mark on my career, disciplinary hearing, letting Lissa down, potentially staying in this weird limbo of not being scheduled on her guard even though I'm her sanctioned guardian," Rose rattled off, flicking her fingers as she went. "People and superiors having reason to question my judgment on anything I do, I can keep going."

"I get it," Viktoria said with a small smile. "It wouldn't look good, basically, if you were sent home early."

"Yeah."

"So that's one option. Probably the one your heart wants. The other is to tell him what's going on and explain the situation to him. That's the big girl, mature thing to do, the one your brain is telling you to do."

"Yeah."

"And neither are great."

"Yeah," Rose said, chewing on her lip. She sighed. "I'll talk to him tomorrow."

Viktoria raised an eyebrow. "Did you just need someone else to say it?" When Rose nodded, Viktoria grinned. "Okay. You'll talk to him tomorrow. Tonight, however, we dance."


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said I'd update on time but I think the extra wait time was worth it for this one. ;)
> 
> Update next weekend.

 

Some ethnographers accidentally find out who they really want to 'be' in their encounters with 'others', and sometimes the person they want to be is not the ethnographer, but a member of the group. . . . The ethnographic manner of being with people is to find a way to get close, but not so close that one can't step back. . . . While that is a choice for ethnographers to make, 'going native' is not ethnography.

— Raymond Madden, _Being Ethnographic: A Guide to the Theory and Practice of Ethnography_ (2010)

* * *

 Viktoria didn't want to get ready at her house; her friend, Marina, had a birthday coming up after Viktoria would be going back to school, and her hometown friend group decided to go out while she was still in town, so everyone was gathering at Marina's before heading out.

"What's the English word, like the party before you go to the club?" Viktoria asked, debating between two different eyebrow pencils. She pronounced it _kloob_ , her accent thickening over the word.

"Pregame?" Rose supplied, unsure if that was the word Viktoria was looking for.

"Yes!" Viktoria chose the darker pencil and threw it in the bag she'd spent the past half hour packing. "Are you sure you want to come tonight? You don't seem like the partying type. I don't want to push you into anything you don't want to do."

"On the contrary," Rose said towards the ceiling from where she was sprawled out on Viktoria's air mattress, "I partied my way through high school like alcohol was going out of style."

"Even with all the running away?"

Rose nodded. "Sometimes Lissa needed more than usual for feedings, so we actually _did_ try to go find people at parties. I'm sure had I stayed at St. Vladimir's, I would've done more than minor destruction of property."

"You just got all uptight and mature when your best friend became Queen," Viktoria guessed, and Rose nodded.

"I got serious my senior year. I had to. I partied a bit while she was in college, mostly just stuff we got invited to. She rushed a sorority and ended up turning down her bid, but the spirit charisma stuff made sure we got invited back to stuff all four years." Rose shrugged. "Mostly I just get drunk with my friends when I'm off duty now. I've never really done the whole club thing."

"Well, let's change that," Viktoria said, zipping the bag shut. " _Davai_." _C'mon, let's go_.

Marina's house was just as nondescript as everyone else's in Baia, with only several cars parked on the paved road outside giving away that anything was going on. Inside, everyone greeted Viktoria like a long lost friend despite being at Polina Andropova's New Year's party not that long ago, and Rose waded through a barrage of cheek kisses and name introductions before she elbowed Viktoria to get her attention.

"You were at Polina's last week?" Rose asked.

"Yes," Viktoria said distractedly, pulling out the leggings and drapey t-shirt Rose had chosen for the night as they followed Marina into her bedroom. "Why?"

"I didn't see you there. I thought you were with Karolina and them all night."

"I showed up after I took Aloysha home," she said. And then, almost irritated, she added, "I said earlier I was a good mother, didn't I?" She dropped the bag on the floor by the bedroom door and started undressing, pausing in the middle of switching bras when realization dawned across her face. "Wait, _you_ were there? Why?"

"Dimitri wanted to talk to Anton," Rose said, and suddenly the music was shut off completely with half a dozen pairs of eyes trained on them.

"Mitya was at your party, Polya?" someone asked one of the other girls — Polina, most likely — who was in the middle of putting on makeup. "Why the fuck didn't you tell me?"

"I had no clue," Polina said, arching an eyebrow at the girl over her compact. "I just found out right now, Sofiya, same as you. Don't bitch at me."

Rose met Polina's assessing look, straightening her shoulders when Polina's eyebrow inched higher before the girl turned back to her task at hand.

"How is he, Vika?" Sofiya asked. Marina, leaned in close to her vanity mirror, rolled her eyes before returning to brushing on mascara.

"Spoken for," Viktoria teased, adjusting her dress in a second mirror, this one hanging on the back of Marina's door, and she grinned when a collective gasp went through the room.

"What?" Polina in particular looked like she'd been run over by a truck. "Who the fuck is it?"

"Now why would I just tell you?" Viktoria asked, throwing a smirk over her shoulder.

"Do you know who it is?" Another girl, standing by the window and lighting up a cigarette, directed her question at Rose, who shrugged and shook her head. Why was Viktoria not telling them it was her?

"Why would she know, Nastia?" Marina asked.

"She's the American girl Vika's family is hosting," Anastasia said, nodding towards Rose.

The third, still unnamed girl, who was seated on the bed and curling Polina's hair, scoffed. "Mitya's so quiet, though, I don't think anyone knows what really goes on with him."

"What's she like?" Sofiya asked Viktoria, jealousy evaporating into wonder.

"How'd you describe her, Rose?" Viktoria asked.

Rose, for her part, was still confused, and she shrugged again, not wanting to cryptically talk about herself. "I don't think I'd be a good judge of that."

"Is she hot?" Polina asked, shutting her compact. Her makeup was just as thick as everyone else's; Rose was grateful she'd opted out of letting Viktoria do her face for the night.

"Definitely a ten out of ten," Viktoria said, and a couple of _ooh_ 's echoed.

"Good," Polina said definitively, making Rose wonder why the girl cared so much. "After the last one, he deserves the best."

"Oh, this girl is definitely it," Viktoria said, shaking her head when Rose shot her a _what the fuck_ look. Where had the woman supporting her to break things off this morning gone?

"Is it anyone we know?" Anastasia asked, blowing smoke out the window. Everyone in the room seemed completely oblivious to the negative temperature outside.

"Maybe. And that's all I'm saying!" Viktoria added when more questions started to erupt. "I didn't show up to gossip about my brother. This is Marina's night."

Marina looked thrilled that the conversation was shifting back to her, and as the room dissolved into Russian, Rose lightly kicked Viktoria in the ankle.

"What happened to 'you should definitely talk to him tomorrow'?" Rose hissed in the girl's ear.

"I don't have anything else to offer right now," Viktoria said, suddenly looking tired. She glanced at the women behind her. "Besides, do you want five strangers in your face asking you how good he is in bed?"

"Point taken," Rose said, sagging against the door next to the mirror Viktoria was using. She may have been working — really, this night was probably the biggest break she'd had in her entire assignment — but the sad, tired part of her was beginning to realize that forgetting about her problems for a little while could be its own kind of relief. "Isn't this the part where the alcohol comes out?"

"Here," Marina said, handing Rose a half-finished bottle of vodka. "Drink up. Those heels look like they're gonna hurt."

They were the same shoes she'd worn on New Year's. "Yeah, they do," Rose said, and when the first slide of vodka hit the back of her throat, she decided that fuck it, if the group she was with was going to have a good time, she might as well, too. Here was an opportunity focus on herself, she'd be damned if she wasn't going to capitalize on it.

She was exhausted — exhausted of letting others dictate how to live her life, exhausted of always trying to please Lissa and do what was best for her, exhausted of everything. Maybe it was time to put responsibility on the back burner for the first time in over five years and really go all out.

Besides, everyone else was going to get drunk and dance and forget about their own lives for a few hours. Joining in would be participant-observation at its most immersed.

It was nearly midnight by the time the group got Temno, a renovated warehouse-turned-club on the edge of town, and Rose was just tipsy enough that her earlier unease about going into a blood whore den could easily be ignored in favor of following the group make a beeline for the bar. Sofiya was the first to get a bartender's attention, and proceeded to open a tab — "David's covering tonight," she explained without clarifying who David was — and promptly order two rounds of something bronze and three rounds of something clear since Marina was turning 23.

It was loud inside the club — a remixed song Rose recognized playing on the radio in the States the previous summer blared through the space, heavy bass thumping in her chest. The walls were lit up blue from the bottom and there was a dazzling light and laser display on the stage where the DJ was set up; bodies — dhampir girls and Moroi men — crowded everywhere, though the seven of them had pushed enough people out of the way to form a comfortable semicircle at the bar along one of the side walls. It obnoxious and ridiculous and if Rose didn't look towards the dark corners, she could pretend it was just any other club.

She didn't know any of the girls save Viktoria, but she quickly found herself not caring. At all the parties she'd gone to in her life, Lissa has been by her side and her main priority. Drinking and dancing came second. _Enjoying herself_ came second. The freedom she had in that moment, standing in a dhampir club in the middle of Russia, was as intoxicating as the mojito someone pressed into her hands after the rounds of shots had been finished off. Here, she could get plastered and dance with whomever she wanted. There was no one to look out for except herself. She almost didn't know what to do with herself.

A couple of Moroi guys showed up when Rose was halfway through her drink, and Viktoria lit up when she saw them.

"Rolan!" she shouted, throwing her arms around one of them, her drink nearly sploshing out of the glass. Another of them pointed at Anastasia, who pointed back, laughed, and dragged him away.

"Who's the friend?" Rolan asked, shouting into Viktoria's ear to be heard. He was looking at Rose.

"This is Rose!" Viktoria pulled away from her embrace with Rolan to throw an arm around Rose's neck, a grin drunkenly stretching her face.

"She's the American," Polina added, equally as loud. Even with heightened hearing, it was necessary to yell to be heard.

Drunk and unable to stop herself, Rose asked, "Do I have a reputation or something?"

"You do," Marina said, leaned against the bar next to Rose and playing the ends of Rose's hair. Rose was distantly aware that the gentle tugs of Marina's fingers felt good.

"Nice to meet you," Rolan shouted, offering a hand that Rose shook hard. Rolan indicated his remaining friend. "This is Sergey."

Sergey reminded her of Jesse Zeklos with his shaggy hair and lazy smirk, except . . . no, he was more like Adrian. His hair was too brown to pass for Jesse's. She smiled at the guy absently as she stood there awkwardly for a moment, still trying to figure out which ex-fling Sergey resembled.

"Katenka wants to dance," Polina announced with a blank face, reaching around Viktoria to dump two empty glasses on the bar, and jolting Rose out of her thoughts in the process. She and the third girl disappeared into the crowd.

"What's going on between them?" Marina asked Sofiya.

Sofiya shook her head, watching the two girls weave through the throng on the dance floor with a fond look. "I don't know. I hope Yekaterina gets her shit together. Polina, too, but it's Yekaterina I worry about more."

Viktoria and Rolan, meanwhile, had taken to making out against the bar. Sergey saw Rose's glance and shook his head. To the three left, he asked, "Dance floor?"

Sofiya held up her finger and turned to the bartender to order a round of tequila.

"I hate when you insist on mixing liquors," Marina whined, but still she dutifully held out her hand for the shot.

"Do you want Danya to fuck you tonight or no?" Sofiya asked.

Marina took the shot glass from her friend. "Of course I do."

"Then drink the tequila, because your clothes are going to stay on otherwise."

Rose felt like she was watching herself from afar as she licked the salt off her hand in time with the other three, tossed back the tequila, and bit into a lime wedge. This wasn't who she was, not really, and for half a second she wanted to leave, to go back to the Belikov house and crawl into Dimitri's arms and listen to him talk about whatever was on his mind while she worried about how bad her hangover would be in the morning. But then, when she turned to put the shot glass back on the bar to be bussed away, she saw Alex on the other side, mixing a drink and staring at her like she'd grown fangs.

" _This_ is the club you bartend at?" Rose asked as she leaned across the bar, dumbfounded through her alcohol swirl.

Alex nodded, still eyeing her warily. "What are you doing here?" he shouted in her ear, also leaning across the bar so she could hear him.

She looked around wildly for Viktoria, but the girl had disappeared. Rolan, too. She wondered where they went, not wanting to admit to herself what was probably going on between them.

"Vika brought her," Marina supplied, leaning across the bar next to Rose.

Alex didn't look placated. "This is the girl's night my _zolovka_ insisted you attend?"

Rose shrugged. What Viktoria told her she should do wasn't of importance to her. It was a carefree night. In any event, she was too far gone to really care about Alex's opinion of his future sister-in-law.

"Come, Rose, we're dancing!" Marina shouted, gently tugging on Rose's arm. " _Poka_ , Alex!"

Rose was sandwiched between the two girls, holding onto Marina's shoulder as they pushed through people to get to the center of the room, with Sergey taking up the rear. Rose caught the briefest of glimpses of Viktoria and Rolan in the crowd, pressed close together, but she didn't have the attention span to register much else.

After puberty hit, rounding her hips and breasts in ways Moroi girls could only wish for, Rose hadn't tried to hide how she looked. There'd been a time when she thrived on the way guys would openly stare, Moroi and dhampir alike. The need for public displays of interest had lessened after she graduated high school and her desires changed — she wanted feelings and emotions, preferred real dates over cheap, shallow advances.

Adrian had once told her that a person's true self came out when they were drunk, because the masks and fronts people put on slipped away when alcohol hit their system. _Booze makes you slippery_ , he'd said. _You can't hide yourself when you lose control._ It'd been during one of the many times Rose hid out in his room after the attack on the academy, and he'd followed up his wisdom by offering her another swig of his whiskey with a meaningless eyebrow waggle.

She'd taken a hearty sip and flipped him off. It felt like a lifetime ago.

And so as hours slipped by, the four stuck together, drifting off the dance floor for more drinks and ambling back on when they finished. Alex always seemed around to serve them, keeping a close eye on Rose. She didn't appreciate being watched, and said as much during a bathroom break with Marina.

The birthday girl shrugged as she reapplied her lipstick. "I think it's sweet. He does the same with Vika. You're basically a sister to him now."

"I wish he wouldn't," Rose slurred. She crossed her arms over his chest. "I don't want him, like, reporting back to Dimitri. I'm a grown woman."

Marina stopped mid-swipe and eyed Rose. "I thought it was you."

"What?"

"The girl Vika was talking about. Polina mentioned it to me on our way here." Marina closed her lipstick and stuck the capped tube back in her bra, touching up the corners of her mouth with her little finger. "You're his type."

"He has a type?"

"Mm. Strong. Bold. Doesn't give too many fucks."

If Rose wanted three ways to describe herself, it'd be that.

"The last girl, she cared too much. He couldn't handle it." Marina smiled, reaching out to pet Rose's hair for the billionth time that night. "You have really great hair, by the way."

Rose wanted to talk more about this last ex-girlfriend of his that kept cropping up. Rose was fairly certain she'd heard her referred to as The Bitch a couple of times by different people, but never in his company, and _curious_ was an understatement on how she felt about the topic of conversation.

Unfortunately, her alcohol-drunk brain was more concerned with the compliment on her hair. "Thaaaanks," Rose drawled, checking her reflection in the mirror and running her hands through the soft waves Yekaterina had insisted on doing for her earlier, claiming superior skill with a curling iron than anyone else among her friends.

God, she was drunk. But she felt relaxed, and the ever-present tension in her shoulders had melted away countless drinks and songs and hours ago. She loved it. She felt as alive and animated as she looked, even if standing in place was difficult.

"Seriously." Marina was holding up on her own thin hair for comparison, forcing Rose to drift back into reality. "You have no idea how lucky you are to have it."

Outside, Sofiya was leaned against the wall, and said something that made Marina roll her eyes as she pulled her phone out of bra, glancing at the time. "I wanted to do this earlier before everyone split up, but now works, too." She pulled the other two close and Rose rested her head on Sofiya's shoulder as Marina took a selfie of them standing in the hallway.

It turned out great, as all drunken selfies do, but a pang of homesickness hit Rose when she couldn't help but compare it to photos she and Lissa had taken and how much better she would feel staring back at the faces of people she actually truly knew.

Back on the dance floor, Sergey had been joined by Viktoria, who shouted updates to everyone individually: Rolan was off getting more drinks, Anastasia had left with her boyfriend, and she hadn't seen Yekaterina or Polina in a while. Rose just nodded her understanding, her eyes catching Sergey's across the group, and when he pulled her in close by her waist, she drooped into his embrace.

"You're gorgeous," he said into her ear and she shivered, distantly aware of close his mouth was to her neck. If she closed her eyes, she could pretend she was younger again, still a novice in school without any real responsibility. Picking up on her response, he asked, "Want some air?"

She nodded, his heat overwhelming her, and she slid her hand into his as he led them off the dance floor. She didn't look back to see everyone else's reactions. Tonight was about caring as little as possible, and she was wasted enough that her homesickness won out over rational thought.

"Air" was one of the couches littering the back of the club, and Rose was with it enough to feel relieved that the dark corner he led her to was as secluded as she'd originally thought.

"You don't usually do this," he said as she sat down next to him, legs curled under her. The world tilted happily as she met his hazel-green eyes.

Not enough like Adrian. Maybe a little like Jesse. Did Jesse have blue eyes? ( _Lissa does._ )

"What gave it away?" she asked, able to not shout as loud as down on the dance floor.

"You keep looking at the entrance, like you're planning to escape."

"Maybe I'm just waiting for someone."

_Where did that come from?_

"Oh?" Sergey rested an arm on the back of the couch they'd claimed, fingers playing with the collar of her shirt and occasionally brushing her neck. "Did you leave someone at home?"

Had she? Was Dimitri a someone? "No," she said. No fucks given. She wasn't his girlfriend nor his exclusively. They hadn't had that conversation.

Some part of her brain told her that was a good train of thought, that it would be easier to separate herself from him if she wasn't attached anymore than she already was.

"You sure?" Sergey was looking at her seriously.

"Dead sure," she slurred and then giggled, leaning into him. "You look like a guy I was into in high school."

"Yeah? Was he any good?"

Rose felt a terrible thrill shoot through her as she remembered the way Jesse had bit into her neck, the overwhelming pleasure in her memory sparking that itch from earlier. "He was an idiot. I'm certain you're better."

Sergey just grinned.

"For one, you're a better kisser."

"That's odd of you to say considering you've never kissed me."

To prove him wrong, she surged forward, mouth and teeth clashing against his. It was warm and pleasant, like any of the dozens of times she'd made out with Adrian, but it paled in comparison to the electric power that coursed through her when she kissed Dimitri.

"Now I have," she said when she pulled away.

"You are the most unusual woman I've ever met."

She shrugged and leaned in again. "I once put ketchup on a taco," she said, not sure why that random factoid came out of her mouth.

Sergey looked ready to eat her alive. "Good thing you're gorgeous."

This is what life could be like if she ended things with Dimitri, she mused as she kissed Sergey again, hands braced on his shoulders as she flung a leg over his and straddled his hips. It certainly made more sense for her to be experiencing this than getting involved with him for her assignment.

Or so the alcohol told her. It was hard to tell what was drunk logic or Rose-avoiding-scary-feelings logic. Flings were easier than admitting she was head over heels for someone. Friends stayed by your side. Relationships always ended unless you got hitched, and she didn't believe in marriage.

"I'm not fucking you," she said, coming up for air.

"I know," Sergey replied, eyes fixed on her throat. "But would you . . . ?"

This was it. She could get off his lap and walk away, go get a drink or find the girls on the floor. She didn't have to succumb to a years-old desire. But the memory of fading out, high on endorphins, hit her like a bullet. Lissa, Jesse, the near-misses with Adrian . . . something was tugging at her, and when she bit her lip, debating her next move, it came flooding back — no, there had been one time with Adrian, in a shitty motel room just outside New Orleans' French Quarter several summers ago, when all hope had seemed lost in finding Lissa's missing sibling.

All those relationships that had changed her, shaped her, made her who she was in that moment, they were all connected by that one thing. And yet, for as much as she felt wholly different since meeting Dimitri, he wasn't at that level as the rest of them. He couldn't give her _this_.

And wouldn't this be the ultimate grand finale to her night of not giving a shit?

She tossed her hair back, eyes already sliding shut as anticipation raced through her. "Go for it."

She shivered when fangs brushed her throat, and when they punctured skin, she whimpered, the high she was desperately searching for billowing in like storms off the shore. She was floating high above reality. Nothing else mattered except where he drank from her, his hands spread across her back to help her from sliding off his lap.

She could hear Adrian's voice in her head, a sad, judging whisper of _Alcohol doesn't make you do things you wouldn't do sober. It just removes the barriers sober you puts up._

All too soon he pulled away, licking his lips. Her eyes felt glazed over, and she wanted nothing more than to just fall into the couch and swim through the warm feelings enveloping her completely. It was as good as anything she'd felt with Dimitri; in some ways, the alcohol even heightened it more. This was the definition of _bliss_ if she'd ever felt it.

Hands were running up and down her back soothingly, but they did nothing to quell the disgust and self-loathing that rolled in a few minutes later when she felt strong enough to move several minutes later. Without a word, she climbed off his lap, wobbling when she remember she was in tall heels.

She needed to get away. She needed another drink. Maybe she'd blackout and forget she ever just let that happen. Was this how Adrian felt every time he slipped with his cigarettes? That overwhelming crushing sense of defeat that he'd gone so long without his vice only to succumb to it again? Would she ever be above this, needing the mind-numbing high and not knowing else how to get it except to degrade herself to the very kind of person she normally talked down about?

Tonight was definitely not going into a report, participant observation be damned.

She stumbled to the bar, not realizing how much the bite still affected her, and stopped short a foot away. There, talking into each other's ears from opposite sides of the bar and looking grim, was Alex and Dimitri.

"What are you doing here?" she asked when she came up next to him, her tone bitchier than she intended. Of course the reason she wanted to let go tonight would show up and ruin everything.

She watched his eyes flick to her neck, fresh bite on display. Something in his face fell when he explained, "Alex was worried about you."

"That's sweet," she said, her tone indicating it was anything but. Was the universe always against her? To Alex, she said, "I was trying not to give a fuck tonight."

"Clearly," Alex said, judgment all over his face, as he wiped down drinking glasses.

She crossed her arms over her chest, not acknowledging the sarcasm. "Well I'm fine, so you can leave."

"I don't think that's a good idea," Dimitri replied, voice hard.

"You're not my father." Her frustration was building. "You can't tell me what to do."

"Rose," Alex warned, "I'm about to kick you out of here for your own good. You're drunk. You're high. Go home and sleep it off."

"Fuck off," she snapped, instantly regretting it when she saw Alex's jaw tighten.

"Rose," Dimitri said, and something about the way he said it made her stop and really look at him. Hurt was draped across his face for anyone to see, and the blatant display of emotion set her insides churning.

"Fine, I'll go. Lead the way," she said, waving arm like she was indicating the path. Dimitri shot Alex a look and then Rose, in all her drunken boldness, added, "This is fucking stupid. I just wanted a night to myself and now it's been ruined. You know what? I don't even care right now. I can get home on my own."

Something inside Dimitri reached its tipping point. "Do you really think you can make it out of here without my help or am I going to need to stop you from throwing yourself at every guy you see?" he snapped, eyes blazing, and she jerked at his tone.

"Is that your subtle way of calling me a slut?" she asked, hurt and anger coursing through her. Where did he get off saying this stuff? "Because fuck you if that's what you think."

"My opinion doesn't matter because you already did," he said tightly.

She laughed in disbelief. "God, you come off all grown up and shit, but it's just a really good front you put up, isn't it? You know who makes comebacks about sex? Immature assholes." When Dimitri didn't respond, his stormy gaze still pinning her where she stood, she scoffed and turned on her heel to leave.

He caught up with her outside. "I'm not getting into it with you while you're like this," he said, now at a normal volume. The guardians flanking the entrance eyed them warily.

"Isn't that the same excuse you gave that night you didn't sleep with me?" Rose asked. "What, do you just avoid conversations when someone might feel vulnerable? Because this is me, Dimitri. I might be drunk, but I'm sure as hell more open now that I usually am."

"Open for anything, I see," he said coolly.

Her bitten neck burned. "You don't know anything about me."

"Apparently."

She was seething. There was a touch of darkness in the bond and it called out to her, a siren's voice of temptation almost as strong as Sergey's offered bite. She took it without thinking, letting the anger swirl around her.

"You know, I thought I was insane for falling for you — a guy I haven't known my whole life — so quickly, but I told myself I wasn't, because I assumed you were different. I assumed you were better able to handle me because you're older and nobody my age has been able to before, but you're freaking out over baggage you weren't expecting, so I guess I was right in thinking I was crazy for letting you in because you really are a stranger to me."

"I don't know who you are either," Dimitri said, fists balled by his sides, and his reply sent her storming away with a scream, a piercing shriek in the night as the darkness took hold.

"One night, _one_ _fucking night_ ," she ranted to no one in particular, pacing back and forth. "One fucking night to myself because I can't have you when all I want is you but I also can't let my guard down _ever_ because God forbid I ever end up like you, depressed and angry at the world because you slipped once and it cost you your best friend's life and I never wanted this assignment and I can't even have my own fucking _sanity_ because my life is controlled, every day, by Lissa, by that stupid Council, by everyone who isn't me!"

She crumbled in the spot where she'd stopped moving. Her sobs echoed around the alley they were in danger of being swallowed up by; the weight of how much she didn't have control over her own life was weighing her down so much, it physically pushed her to the ground when she began crying in earnest.

Dimitri must have been torn on what to do because it took him a few seconds to come over and pull her up, arms encircling her as she cried into his chest, hating how powerless she felt. The fear that she didn't know who she was outside of her bond and guardianship to Lissa had taken root in her heart at some unknown earlier point in time, and it fanned out now, rolling through her body and mind at a relentless pace. She gripped his shirt like she might drift away again as she wondered who the hell she was.

Eventually, a cab rolled up and she was urged into the backseat, frustration and concern warring across his face. She curled up in the corner opposite him and stared out the window, trying to quell her nausea. She'd never thought about it before, how she didn't really exist outside of her relationship with Lissa — her career, her housing, hell, even most of her wardrobe was dictated by being Lissa's guardian. Her hobbies, running and reading, were always spurred by working to make Lissa's life easier, better, safer. What was hers that wasn't touched by Lissa?

She didn't mind being close to Lissa. She leaned on it, survived on the support and makeshift family her friend could offer, but she was now realizing how entrenched she was in someone else's life and how it took away from her own.

The cab hadn't pulled to a full stop in front of the house when she spilled out, slamming the door and striding towards the door without waiting for Dimitri. She stopped when she got to the front door and was confronted with the reminder that she'd left her key to the house in Viktoria's bag. Dimitri would have to let her in, and he looked like he was ready to launch into a more in-depth conversation now that they were aware from public ears. Maybe if she banged on the door hard enough—

"Rose, what's going on with you?"

She turned around. The cab was gone. Dimitri had his hands in the pockets of his duster, shoulders hunched in the cold. She was still too drunk to feel how it was below freezing out and she didn't have on anything more than a shirt and bra to protect her from the temperature. The darkness pricked at the back of her mind, egging her annoyance on.

"What do you mean?"

"You're up, you're down, you're starting fights out of nothing. It's . . . it's not like you."

She crossed her arms over her chest. "I thought we already established you don't know anything about me."

"Not the point I'm trying to make," he replied gruffly, anger sparking in his eyes again.

"Why do you even care?"

The anger gave way to shock and sadness. "Because I care about you and because I worry about your happiness."

She said nothing, shifting her weight to her other foot.

"Because it's been three weeks and in that time, you've become the most important person in my life." He looked so small despite his height that she nearly caved. "Earlier," he said, looking past her shoulder, "you said you couldn't have me." His eyes flicked back up to hers. "What did you mean by that?"

His calm demeanor knocked her thoughts off balance. She'd been preparing for an all-out fight — definitely not this gentle worry he was showing. "Some people," she said, trying to shift her anger away from him because really, he didn't deserve it, that much she was coherent enough to rationalize, "Have decided that by getting involved with you, I'm not doing my job to the best of my ability. That you'll cloud my judgment and I won't be able to meet their standards. And some of my past actions have given them more bargaining power than I would like."

"That's ridiculous."

"Tell me about it." If she smoked, this would be the part where she pulled a cigarette out. Instead, she leaned against the front door and lolled her head to the side, now trying to avoid his gaze. It would make this easier if she didn't have to see the pain in his eyes. "I've been trying to tell you, but I just . . . couldn't."

"Is that why you've been so off lately?"

It was like talking to Viktoria all over again. Only this time, there was no planning. The ugly conversation was happening.

"Partly. Lissa's medication isn't working so well lately, and that usually affects me before it affects her. She feels closer to her magic, but she's far too busy to realize what that usually means."

"You sound—"

"Angry? Annoyed that my best friend isn't thinking about me when all I do is worry to death over her?" She frowned. "I've been having a lot of revelations tonight about this stuff. If I wasn't sure your country is trying to turn me into an alcoholic, I'd get drunk more often. Apparently I do all my best thinking then."

"That's not healthy."

"Neither is this." She tapped the now-healing bruise, her fingers lingering against her neck. "I love Lissa, but I've given up a lot for her. And I'm about to give you up for her, too."

"You don't have to," he replied fiercely, moving closer to her. He braced himself with an arm against the door, just close enough that her head could rest against his bulging forearm.

"Don't I?" Her laugh was choked, her voice small. "I don't know how to exist outside of my job, Dimitri. I went from giving authority the middle finger to jumping every time a superior tells me to. I don't know why that happened, but it did, and I wish so hard, every day, that I could find my old self, rediscover the girl who'd say 'screw it' and ignore what she's being told because she'd rather go for what she wants." She leaned into his hand when he cupped her cheek, his thumb stroking over her cheekbone. "But my life has always been about helping others. I've never put myself first, and I don't see that happening anytime soon, not when I'm so close to finally being Lissa's sanctioned guardian." She sniffed. "And regardless, I don't even know _how_ to put myself first."

He leaned his forehead against hers and she wrapped the lapels of his coat in her hands, needing some kind of contact with him. "I wish I was your age," he murmured, "Because then I could blame my urge to ask you to try for me on being young. Now I'm just being selfish."

"Selfishness is a luxury we don't have," she said quietly.

"I know." He pressed a kiss to her forehead. "As much as it kills me to say this . . . I won't make you stay if it's what you want. I'm not going to ask you to upend your life for someone you barely know."

Her eyes watered, but no tears fell; she was too strung out to cry. Mostly she just wanted to get into bed and sleep away her pain.

He whispered something in Russian, but she didn't quite catch it, drowsiness taking hold over her consciousness. The corners of his mouth were pulled down when he leaned away and reached into his pocket for his keys, and she tried not to feel like something great was slipping through her fingers when she silently followed him into the house.


	12. Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Idk how the logic adds up, but you guys get a chapter not only on time, but a smidge early, because I wound up in the hospital with massive complications from getting my wisdom teeth out. (I'd say I'd do it like this more often, but ouch, no, not happening.)
> 
> Update next weekend!

On the ninth of January, Rose Hathaway woke up alone and hungover. She knew she didn't have to look behind her to see how the sheets had gone unrumpled in the wake of the previous night's conversation. It took Karolina knocking on her door a half hour later for her to move; she stayed in sweatpants and a turtleneck all day, only surfacing from the room to eat.

On the tenth, the sheets were slept in but cold, and her hand curled in the fabric where he'd laid next to her all night. Within minutes she was asleep again, and for the most part, she was generally left alone.

On the eleventh, she woke up at four in the morning, sweat pouring down her face as she tried to calm her shuddering breaths. Lissa didn't often dream anymore of the crash that had killed her parents at the beginning of high school, but when she did, it would hit Rose with the force of a body check from a Strigoi. She didn't glance down at the sleeping figure next to her when she slipped out of bed to roam aimlessly down the streets of Baia. When she returned, eventually too cold to stay outside, Dimitri was up and awake, packing his things to go back to work at the academy. He didn't look at her.

On the twelfth, she gave long goodbye hugs to Paul and Viktoria before they climbed in Dimitri's car. When he got to her in the sendoff line, she met his eyes for a moment, and he gave a single, sharp nod before sliding behind the wheel and driving away with her heart.

* * *

**CODE OF ETHICS AND STANDARD GUARDIAN FIELD PRACTICES, VERSION FOUR**

_ADOPTED 31 JANUARY 1925_

_LAST REVISED 13 JANUARY 2015_

[ . . . ]

SECTION III — _Personal Conduct_

[ . . . ]

K. Sexual Relationships — Consensual (rev. 2015)

i. In the interest of the Moroi in which they are protecting, guardians are to refrain from entering sexual relationships with other guardians or their Moroi charge. In the event that a complaint is lodged regarding this kind of behavior, suitable and appropriate disciplinary action will be taken after a thorough investigation. Sexual relationships have been found to significantly draw from a guardian's attention in the course of their duty.

ii. Relationships of a romantic nature are classified here for the same reason. Romantic relationships between two guardians or a guardian and their Moroi charge are expressly forbidden without prior approval from the Guardian Council. Approval will be given if the guardian(s) can prove that the relationship will not in any way hinder the guardian from devoting their whole self and attention to their duty of protecting their Moroi charge(s).

iii. Romantic relationships during non-specific guarding assignments are prohibited. Any sworn, active guardian(s) found to be in violation of this will be reassigned immediately, will testify at a joint Council disciplinary hearing, and will carry out the punishments agreed upon in a subsequent joint Council meeting. Please refer to Addendum A for reasoning.

[ . . . ]

SECTION XIV — _Addendums_

A. They Come First (rev. 1947)

i. Guardians are to be reminded of the oath to which they swore loyalty upon receiving their promise mark. It is by this governing principle that all guardians should conduct their personal and professional lives. Without full compliance by guardians, Moroi safety is compromised. Any lapse in judgment that compromises Moroi safety will be dealt with by the harshest appropriate measures as determined by an internal investigation.

[ . . . ]

_NEXT ANTICIPATED REVISION, JANUARY 2017_

* * *

She moved in a fog as time and winter dragged on, the weather matching the cold, grayscale view of the world she now held.

Life calmed down after the trio of Belikovs went back to St. Basil's; Rose fell into a lackluster routine of dragging herself out of bed to eat and socialize — obligations more than anything else — anything that was just enough to keep her reports back to Court as detailed as previous batches. They didn't have to know she was barely doing anything. They weren't privy to that part of her life, she decided early on. The Royal Council wouldn't get all of her.

But for the most part, she was in bed, and it was silently accepted as the new norm even if none of the adults attempted to hide their constant worried glances in her direction. She had a hard time letting go of the one place she'd been able to have Dimitri without worrying about the real world. In her despair over and self-directed anger at being so duty-focused, she didn't want to forfeit the only tiny paradise she'd ever been blessed with.

And when she was curled around his pillow, hugging it until her scent permeated his and unable to get her thoughts off him, she would write in the journal Sonya gave her for Epiphany, dozens of letters to a man who'd never read them.

_Jan 15_

_I don't know what this feeling is. Do I miss you? I think I do. This is what it feels like when I think about my friends back home . . . but it's a thousand times stronger. I hurt everywhere. Why did you do this to me?_

_Jan 19_

_Alex convinced me to go lunch with him to surprise Karolina at work. It worked — she was so shocked to see me out of the house that she called me 'Roza' and I ended up outside crying for ten minutes. I had no idea tears could freeze against your face. (Did you call me Roza when you talked about me? Do you even talk about me anymore?)_

_Jan 21_

_I hate you. You make me weak when I'm usually so strong. I killed my first Strigoi when I was 17. That should count for something. I guess it doesn't since I don't know what to do with myself._

_Jan 22_

_The feedback on my last report came in. "Much improved" is what I was told. I didn't include you in it. Maybe Marie fucking Conta was right._

_Jan 27_

_Adrian read my aura one last time when he visited me the other night. Lots of darkness, both spirit and my own. He said it's what depression looks like but didn't offer me much more. His new meds are working, so I don't have that connection with him anymore. I don't know what to do._

_Jan 30_

_I want to get past you. I've never needed someone the way I need you. I'm scared of losing my independence. You've shown me that you'd never hold me back from what I want, so I shouldn't have reason to fear and yet . . . I do._

* * *

On the first day of February, Rose finally relented to Olena's concern and accompanied the older woman into town for basic grocery runs.

On the second, around mid-afternoon, Marina and Polina dropped by, completely unannounced, and pulled Rose out of bed and onto the back step of the house, passing a bottle of vodka around to keep warm. It took about two rounds for Rose to give in and join them, despite the sickly memories of the last time she'd drank straight from the source.

"What are you and Mitya fighting about?" Polina asked after a few minutes of silence.

"We're not fighting," Rose said quietly as she took another sip, fire etching down her throat as she stared out across the Belikovs' backyard.

"Liar," Marina muttered, affection in her tone as she took the bottle from Rose. "We saw you with Mamochka Belikova at the _magazeen_ and the _myasneek_ yesterday."

"It's . . . guardian stuff," Rose said. She left it at that; explaining the rules to non-guardians would take too much mental effort.

"Like Alex and Karolina."

"Polya!"

Rose looked up, minor confusion on her face at the silent conversation happening between the two friends. Polina snatched the vodka away from Marina with an unhappy grunt.

"So why not be with him while you're out here?" Marina asked.

" _Pravda_ ," Polina agreed, handing the bottle off to Rose. "You're very far from the Royal Court. No one would ever know."

Rose shook her head, took a long enough sip that she came up coughing. "I'm too close to the Councils. I just have to chalk this up to bad timing or whatever and get over it. I had something great but my life just . . . isn't accommodating for that kind of thing right now."

"Liar," Marina repeated, this time a lot more bitter and her trademark eye roll.

* * *

_Feb 3_

_I feel so lost without your touch, your warmth, your patience. Something's missing in my world. I think it's you._

_Feb 5_

_I started English lessons with Zoya and Masha today. I'm grateful for it. Kids don't look at you like you'll break if you're a little sad._

_Feb 7_

_Lissa's meds got adjusted and we're starting to see a difference. I was averaging three episodes a week and it takes a while to recover from them when they build up like that. It's working great — we're down to one a week now. I've spent a lot of time down at the lake because of them and because the weather is getting warmer. The kids come with me sometimes, if it's in the afternoon. Their innocence grounds me._

_Feb 9_

_My reports have seen "major improvement" lately. I feel like I'm in school again, getting graded on a end-of-term project._

_Feb 10_

_Had a major dip into homesickness today. I don't know what sparked it. I was standing in the kitchen, helping with dinner, when it hit me. I still can't decide if it's a blessing or a curse to have the bond with Lissa. On one hand, I get to see what everyone back home is up to. On the other, I get to see what everyone back home is up to, if that makes sense._

_Feb 12_

_Lissa's planning her wedding and I'm missing out on it. She's including me in some details, but it's not the same. I'm her maid of honor. I should be there._

_Feb 14_

_I miss you._

_Feb 17_

_Jill and Eddie are having a baby. The person I was before I met you and your family would've looked down on them — I would've said they're too young, that it's a mistake or will end terribly because she's still in college and she's got so much ahead of her. The person I am now, though, is happy for them. I think they'll be alright. They love each other so much. They'll get through whatever problems they face. I_ _want to need to have to_ _believe in that._

_Feb 19_

_Alex proposed to Karolina tonight at dinner. Their happiness is infectious. I certainly didn't think about what you would look like on one knee with a ring in your hand. That would be ridiculous. I don't even believe in marriage anyway._

_Feb 22_

_Lissa fucking FINALLY settled on a black and champagne color scheme for her wedding. I was expecting something like ivory and purple, but the more I look at the palette, the more it makes sense. Marrying Christian Ozera is a bold decision. The wedding needs to match that._

_Feb 23_

_My only lifeboat these days is reading your mother's adventure books, the ones she keeps downstairs with the gilded covers. I've been getting better at reading Russian, so I generally understand what's going on. I can feel you when I read them. I imagine you as a little kid when I read them. Even at Zoya's age, you would've been so careful with the pages, I just know it._

_Feb 24_

_When I was in high school, they made me go to therapy after Mason died. Once a week from March to graduation, I had to sit on a lumpy couch and share my feelings with a counselor whom I didn't like very much. Early on, she asked me if I resented Lissa because she had opportunities and freedoms I didn't. I was adamant that I didn't. It's been five years, but I'm starting to think I did and probably still do._

_Mar 1_

_My birthday's in three weeks. That's how long we got to share together. I try to picture meeting someone and falling for them so quickly. I can't do it. You're my exception._

_Mar 2_

_I haven't taken the necklace off, in case you were wondering._

_Mar 4_

_It was warm today. I should clarify, though: when I say "warm" I mean above freezing. Still, it was enough to get me outside without a thousand layers._

_Mar 5_

_I lied. It's cold again._

_Mar 7_

_I started running again. I realized this morning that I haven't run in a long time. Alberta made me run a lot during my senior year and I stuck with it when Lissa went to Lehigh. I felt stupid for not remembering how good I feel after I exercise, but I reminded myself that I've had a lot to deal with the past few months. Plus, it's been fucking cold. I don't know how you live here year after year, comrade._

_Mar 12_

_Zoya held a two minute conversation with me in English today. Karolina got most of it recorded. I'll have her send it to you. Zoya was so proud of herself. I'm kind of amazed at how fast she's picked up the language. Masha's not as quick, but she's just as dedicated to learning as I imagine you were in school._

_Mar 18_

_I think if we met at a different time in a different place, it would've worked out. You taking that job at St. Vladimir's would probably have worked out better than this. I think about that a lot, how you almost ended up as one of my teachers. Would we still feel the same? Would things have worked out differently? I never saw myself as the kind of girl who would've fallen in love with her instructor, but if it was you . . . I think I would have. You're my exception, remember?_

* * *

Early in the morning of March twentieth, Rose Hathaway was shaken awake by an extremely stressed out pair she knew well — Sydney Sage and Eddie Castile.


	13. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for only getting this chapter up on ff.net last week! I had a personal emergency going on and I had about .2 seconds to post it on one site, let alone both. But it's here! And the next one is coming right behind it, so there's no wait at all today!

"Sydney?" Rose shot up in her bed. Eddie was near the door, arms crossed over his chest and a serious look on his face. "What's going on?"

"You haven't been paying attention to your bond, have you?" Sydney asked, frowning.

Rose shook her head. Lately she'd been blocking out whatever managed to get through Lissa's meds. Watching her friend go through the excitement of wedding planning while her own heart slowly stitched itself back together wasn't helping.

"There've been credible threats made against St. Basil's," Eddie said, voice robotic. His eyes were hard, and she knew the horrors of what happened at St. Vladimir's were echoed in her eyes, too.

"Strigoi?" she asked.

He nodded.

"What are you guys doing here, then?"

"You've been pulled, temporarily, to help increase guardian numbers at the school," Sydney said. "So has most everyone else who survived the attack on your school that can be reassigned to St. Basil's. They want as many experienced people there as possible. I'm here because Lissa wanted someone close to you to tell you in person. Eddie tagged along as my escort off Court property."

"I thought . . ." Rose rubbed her temples, head suddenly pounding. "I thought Lissa had worked on shutting down attacks like this?"

"Key players were taken out at St. Vladimir's," Eddie said quietly. "But someone always rises to the top eventually."

"We need to go," Sydney said, standing and looking around. "Where's your suitcase?"

"Under the bed." Rose was wide awake now, her body a live wire as adrenaline coursed through her.

"Go take a shower," Sydney directed as she started taking clothes out of the dresser. "I'll be done by the time you get back."

When Rose came back not five minutes later, Sydney had indeed finished packing enough for a long, if not indefinite stay. She eyed Rose's still wet hair with a glance towards the snow falling outside the window.

"I'm not drying it," Rose said, handing over her toiletries bag for Sydney to shove into the full suitcase. "It's too thick. We'll be here until next year."

"That's fine," Sydney said, absent-mindedly touching her thin, blonde locks. She glanced at Eddie. "Ready?"

"After you," he said with a small, forced smile, and Rose was struck by the familiarity of the exchange. It was easy to forget they'd once worked together for a year, protecting Jill while Lissa got the quorum law reversed to secure her position as Queen.

Downstairs was silent. Olena was pacing by the front door, wringing her hands. She met Rose at the bottom of the stairs with a tight hug.

"Here." Olena pressed a pin into Rose's hand, curling the girl's fingers around it and squeezing her fist. "My mother needs you to give this to Dimka from her. I know—"

"I'll get it to him," Rose said. "Don't worry."

Olena paused, studying Rose's expression. "Take care of them for me, yes?" she asked after a moment.

"I will," Rose replied seriously.

It was still dark outside. Eddie added Rose's suitcase to their own in the trunk while Sydney turned the car on, ratcheting up the heat as high as it could go. Eddie slid into the backseat, gesturing at Rose to sit up front, and promptly fell asleep.

"How long does it take to get up there?" Rose asked when they hit the highway.

"Legally, four. Eddie drove in from Omsk so my lead foot and I can push that closer to three." Sydney handed her phone to Rose. "Plug this in, please?"

When Rose returned it, Sydney's eyes flicked between her phone and the road as she unlocked it and scrolled through playlists. Eventually she picked one — a soft guitar and some crooning male voice began floating through the speakers at a low volume — and then handed the phone back to Rose.

"Text Adrian and tell him we've got you and that we're on the road," Sydney said as dipped into the other lane to speed past a truck. "He's not at all happy I'm here, let alone walking into the lion's den with you guys, as I'm sure you can imagine."

Rose snorted, scrolling through Sydney's contacts. "Adrian's not in here," she said, showing Sydney the list of 'A' names.

"Oh, sorry, he's in there as Jet Steele. Don't ask, it's a long story."

"Sounds like it," Rose said, grinning despite her nerves. "I thought Jet Steele was your drug dealer or something."

"Hardly," Sydney scoffed. Then, smirking, she added, "If you want crazy names, there's a guy in there named Malachi Wolfe. I'm dead serious when I say that's his real name. I got to see his birth certificate when a friend of mine married him last year."

"And I thought _I_ had weird friends," Rose said, giving Sydney an approving look. She finished tapping out the message, added an "-RH" to the end of it so she wouldn't accidentally get anything back she wouldn't want to see, and handed the phone back to Sydney, who stuck the phone under her thigh.

There wasn't much to the scenery outside — flat, barren land stretched to the horizon in every direction, only broken up by the two-lane highway — which made conversation the only source of entertainment to keep time moving along. There was no way she could try to nap like Eddie, not with the way her fingers were picking at the bottom of her shirt.

"I missed you guys," Rose said about in an hour into the drive. "I mean, I still do, but the homesickness was pretty bad for a while. Seeing you and Eddie in person is making me realize just how much, though."

"We miss you, too," Sydney reassured her. "Adrian and I turned your send-off into a weekly group dinner thing. Everyone's able to come most of the time, but it's not the same without you."

"I've seen some of them," Rose said quietly, still looking out the window.

"Is it weird? Not the bond stuff — just seeing everyone you know hanging out together?"

"It wasn't at first, but then once reality settled in and I was very aware of, like, being _here_ and you guys being _there_ , yeah, it became weird. I don't think I ever fully left Court behind, which might be why I didn't recognize when I started getting homesick."

"Probably was," Sydney agreed. Her phone buzzed, muffled from her jeans and the canvas seat, and she grabbed it, smiling fondly at the text. "Adrian says to give you a hug and that he hopes you're alright."

"Syd, you have service?" came Eddie's voice from the back, and he leaned forward over the center console, blinking away sleep.

"Yeah. Why?"

"Can I text Jill? I talked to her on the train yesterday so I know she's fine, I just—"

"Here." Sydney passed him her phone. "Code's oh-six-one-one."

"How is she, by the way?" Rose asked, twisting around to look at both of her friends. "I've emailed her a couple times since her announcement on Facebook, but nothing too deep."

"She's good," he said, face soft as he tapped out a message. "Pretty bad morning sickness, but she's tougher than she looks. She's more excited than anything." He shook his head. "I'm the one who's terrified."

"I bet," Rose laughed. "She's okay with having dhampir children?"

"We're starting out with just the one, thank you," he said, cutting her a friendly look of _stop right there_. "But yeah, she's fine with it. Loves me and all that." He handed Sydney her phone back and really looked at Rose. "How are you holding up? Lissa and Adrian've been having lots of hushed conversations and I only catch bits and pieces, but I know it's always about you."

Rose considered, noting the way Sydney shifted away from them, trying to give as much privacy as she could given the space they were sharing. "It's been rough," she settled on. "Emotionally, I mean."

"Yeah?"

"Mhm."

"Feel free to punch me in the face for asking a personal question, but wasn't there a guy or something? Lissa was really concerned about that for a while, I remember."

How to answer? He and Sydney wouldn't turn her in for admitting to anything, but there also wasn't anything to talk about. It was over. Done. The credits had rolled months ago.

"Not really." _Lie._ "Lissa was concerned for me because there was some minor issues with a couple of my reports, but it got worked out." _Truth, lie, half a lie._ "It was definitely annoying while it was going on, though." _Understated truth._

"That sucks," he said. "So no guy at all then?"

She grinned. "If I fall in love tomorrow, I'll let you know."

"Deal," he said, bumping his elbow against hers and returning the smile. "You deserve some happiness like the rest of us."

She felt her mouth twist.

"Don't tell me you don't, Rose. I've known you your whole life. You've gotten over what happened with Mason — we all finally have — but it's like he took that part of you with him."

"I dated Adrian," she defended.

Sydney snorted, finally breaking her silence. "Adrian calls himself your rebound and would agree with everything Eddie is saying right now. He's essentially president of the 'Find Rose a Boyfriend' fanclub."

"Oh, do you think he'd make t-shirts for it?" Eddie asked. "That pirate frat shirt he made for you when you guys were undercover was amazing."

"It _is_ amazing. I still have it," Sydney said. Her phone buzzed; she passed it back to Eddie again.

"Guys!" Rose waved her hand in front of her face. "Serious moment about my not dating anyone? Remember?"

Eddie finished his reply, nudged Rose's shoulder with his. "You've never been in a real relationship, is what I was going to say next, and we're worried about you."

"Who says I need a relationship to be happy?" Rose argued, suddenly wishing she hadn't brought the conversation back around to her directly.

"You don't," Sydney agreed, "But all your friends are in relationships, and I can't imagine that's easy."

"Mia's single," Rose said.

"Mia's been dating Roschek in admin for the past three months, actually," Eddie countered.

"What? Since when?"

"Since he joined Christian's offensive magic group after the last call for combat instructors."

"Great." Rose slumped in her seat. " _Mia_ is dating a guy stuck doing payroll because he's in between charges and _I_ , the Queen's to-be personal guardian, haven't been on anything resembling a date in two years."

"You work too much," Eddie said, like it was the simplest thing in the world.

"No I don't."

"Rose, you're the only one at Court who's ever in danger of hitting overtime. I know. I hang out with Roschek these days."

She rolled her eyes.

"Eddie's right, though," Sydney said, trying to cover her amusement. "You barely have time for yourself when you're back home. I'm amazed we ever see you off duty."

"I'm Lissa's guardian. I'm dedicated to her before anything else."

_That argument is beginning to sound worn out._

"No one's saying you're not." Eddie's tone was gentle and lightly concerned. "What we are saying is that you're on some kind of crusade to prove that you're worthy enough to get the official title of Lissa's guardian, and it's wearing you down."

Rose's mouth opened and closed a couple times before she remembered her other argument. "The rules—"

"Look at me," Eddie said. "Seriously, look at me. I've been dating Jill for, what, four years now? We're having a baby next winter and we're talking about maybe getting married at some point down the road. Nobody is hurt or in danger by us being together."

Grasping at straws now, she added, "But let's say something happens—"

"Then something happens and we deal with it as best we can. Look, Rose, you can't live a full life if you're constantly worried about what could go wrong. I started doing that after Mason died and it nearly cost me being with Jill. Yeah, as guardians we have to think ahead and plan for crises, but those aren't daily occurrences. What IS daily is your life and how you live it and who you put it in it."

Lips pressed together, Rose studied her friend. Everything he was saying was true; she just didn't want to hear it.

"It took me some time to figure that out, too," he finished.

"When did you get so wise?" she asked, tilting her head. "Last I checked, you and Mason were still laughing over fart jokes in PE class."

Eddie shrugged. "I fell in love."

BREAK

Of all people Rose expected to see doing check-in at St. Basil's front gate, Anton wasn't all that high on the list. Unlike when she met him on New Year's, he had no smiles to share now, only giving Sydney directions to guest housing and parking with minimal inflection and a nod to Rose through the open window.

Where St. Vladimir's had been all grassy quadrangles and stone-and-ivy buildings, St. Basil's was as ethereally Russian as Rose had imagined. The road through the front gate immediately turned to gravel and flanked the perimeter of a huge, expansive lawn — green in warmer months but presently hidden under snow — that set back a long, light blue building, three tall stories high and easily as many city blocks wide.

To the left of the road, stretching all the way back to parallel the main building was a huge garden, flowers and vegetation still perfectly manicured even in the winter; mirrored across the lawn was the other side of the road and another lawn, this one the same size as the garden but dotted only with pine trees.

The building itself winged back and connected to itself in a large rectangle; according to the campus map, the dormitories and regular dining rooms were in the rear building while classrooms, offices, ballrooms, and guest housing filled the front. The wings were little more than elaborately decorated hallways connecting the two buildings together. In the middle sat the school's lone quad, also covered in snow. The whole thing reminded Rose of the Winter Palace in St. Petersburg.

Between the garden and the back edge of campus sat the gym, twice the size of the one at St. Vladimir's, and Sydney was quick to explain why.

"There's only one campus," she said as she pulled into a spot in the parking lot behind the gym. It looked out of place with all the Baroque architecture and tall, ancient birch trees that circled the school from behind the gated wards. "There was only one building when the school first started and they just built additions over the years to accommodate larger enrollments. Besides, it isn't like America. There's too many Strigoi here in Siberia to have multiple campuses."

"How on Earth do you know that and not us?" Eddie asked in astonishment, climbing out of the car and slamming his door shut.

"You forget I once had to know everything about your people," Sydney replied over the roof, amusement shining in her eyes for a moment.

It faded quickly, though, as a macabre mood fell over them, pulling them into the fear and adrenaline that quietly permeated the air. No one was outside, which was understandable anyway given the weather, but there was an unnatural stillness that set Rose on edge. It tinged the school's beauty, a twisted fairy tale featuring Baba Yaga herself.

Even still, as the three pulled out their luggage and headed for a side entrance, a loud part of Rose was pulling her to go find Dimitri in this labyrinth of a castle to make sure she hadn't just dreamed him up back in December. An even louder part wanted to get back in the car and return to Baia; she'd been telling herself she was over what could've been, but she wasn't entirely sure she believed that, and she didn't want to go start testing the theory out right now.

Guest housing was far nicer than anything she'd ever seen, antique furniture and centuries-old artwork giving the rooms a character the modern spaces at Court lacked. They were given a single room with two beds — nobody had remembered to factor in Sydney after Lissa had added her name to the list of visiting guardians — but Eddie beckoned the two off, claiming that even if the thick, plush couch was short for him, it was at least comfortably sleepable.

"You're going to get more stares than me," Rose said to Sydney while waiting on Eddie to finish changing into the monkey suit guardians used for official attire. She'd already done so; her jacket sat on her shoulders weirdly, and she kept lightly tugging on the hem of it to stretch it out more. "I have a feeling."

Sydney's fingers brushed her cheek where her golden lily tattoo lay dormant under a layer of concealer. "Maybe."

"You good in here?" Eddie asked, appearing from the joint bathroom they and the room next door had to share.

"I think so," Sydney said, pulling her laptop close and looking around. "I've got WiFi and a working toilet." Appearing to feel that was enough, she nodded more confidently. "Yeah, I'll be fine. You guys go to your meeting, I'll see you at dinner."

Placated, Eddie and Rose left.

"This has to be a lot on her," he muttered as they, along with a handful of other late arrivals, made their way from the guest housing wing of the main building to the ballrooms two floors down. "It took her forever to warm up to us in Palm Springs, and you know how she rarely goes outside at Court."

Despite the tension pricking at her skin and the unease rolling through her stomach, being surrounded by Eddie's perfectly bland American accent was comforting to Rose. She nodded, turning the corner for the building's main staircase and trying not to feel overwhelmed by everything that was happening.

They were among the last to arrive and two of the youngest guardians by far. A debriefing was being held in one of the ballrooms to catch all the visiting guardians up to speed and settle the current state of affairs. It was one of the smaller ballrooms — a fifty or so people standing and conversing was a comfortable but not snug fit — but it was no less opulent than anything else Rose had seen so far. It was as if St. Basil's hadn't gotten the memo that the imperial era was over.

Rose couldn't help it. She looked around, telling herself she was looking to see if there was anyone else present whom she knew, and ignored how she came up feeling disappointed when she didn't find Dimitri. Instead, up at the front, Rose saw Anton climb on top of a table and stick two fingers in his mouth. A sharp whistle brought conversations to a sudden halt.

"Thank you for coming on such short notice," Anton started, his voice ringing out loud and clear through the room. "For those who do not know, my name is Anton Rezinov and I am the deputy captain here at St. Basil's. I am aware almost all of you had to make long trips to get here and on behalf of the entire school, I would like to extend my sincerest appreciation for that.

"In particular, I know Captain Sosnitsky, myself, and the entire security staff are truly grateful for the assistance you have brought in your numbers, experience, and talent. What happened at St. Vladimir's five years ago was a horrible tragedy and our aim now is to prevent a repeat."

Anton then proceeded to explain the nature and validity of what they believed were threats of a Strigoi attack, going back to the school starting their winter holiday break early out of precaution, and listed the current plan of attack — up border patrols, wait out another threat — as well as the guardian policies and procedures specific to the school.

All the while, Rose could focus on little else beyond Anton himself. His position puzzled her — he and Dimitri both lost the same charge, and Anton more than likely would've had to testify at some kind of informational hearing as to the events that lead up to the loss of a royal Moroi life even if he didn't face any kind of disciplinary action. In light of that, why was Anton so high-ranked and Dimitri, well . . . not?

"Mostly what we need from you right now is assistance in daily operations and supporting the guardians currently in place here," Anton was saying by the time Rose tuned back in. "Foot patrols, classroom observation, the like. We have identified those we would like to speak as guests in our novice theory and practical classes as a favor of your already being here; if you do not wish to speak, inform the person listed in the email sent to you.

"Your placements, along with copies of everything discussed today, security building and land maps, and basic school information, as well as how to contact myself, Captain Sosnitsky, and division heads, can all be found in the information packets waiting for you in the back by the doors. Please take yours as you leave for dinner. They have been grouped by last name in English alphabetical order."

Anton managed a tight smile. "Again, I cannot begin to share the weight of the relief we feel knowing you all are here. You are the difference between life and death. _Spasibo bolshoy_ , all our thanks for your commitment to the safety of our children."

The school guardians handing out assignment packets in the back by the doors were brusque, all sharp movements and lack of smiles, trying to get people through the lines as fast possible.

"Name?"

"Hathaway."

"Janine or Rosemarie?"

Rose stopped short. "What?"

"Your given name, Janine or Rosemarie?"

"Uh, Rosemarie."

She walked away from the guardian in a daze, scanning the line she'd just been in. Towards the back was a familiar head of auburn curls she never thought she'd see there in a million years. Forgetting trying to find Dimitri or meeting back up with Eddie to compare shifts and go to dinner, she made a beeline for her mother, who didn't seem surprised to see her. Rose flung her arms around her mother in a hug, the entire day suddenly weighing heavy on her.

"I didn't know if you were going to get called out for this," Janine replied when she pulled away a moment later. Underneath her calm front, Rose could see worry over the situation and relief from seeing her daughter in person. "But it makes sense. You're among the best out of everyone here."

Rose was still taking in the sight of her mother. All of her responsibilities melted away for a moment. They may not have been the poster family for close mother-daughter bonds, but Janine always had a way of making Rose feel like she was ten again. Sometimes it wasn't a good thing, but for the most part, it allowed Rose a moment to feel like she didn't have to carry the weight of everything on her shoulders. This was one of those latter times.

"I got kidnapped early this morning," Rose joked, falling back on humor to get through tough times like usual.

Janine nodded. "I heard Guardian Castile and your Alchemist friend were coming."

"Yeah, they, um-" In her peripherals, Rose saw Eddie gesturing towards Janine from across the room with a confused look. Fearing a long conversation, Rose asked, "Actually, do you mind if we talk later? I have some stuff I need to do." When Janine agreed, Rose rushed out a thanks and left to meet up with Eddie.

"When they said everyone with experience, they really meant it," Eddie said. "Took me a moment to remember she was there in the aftermath."

Rose glanced behind her. "Yeah. What's your schedule look like?"

* * *

Because there were so many extra guardians on hand, the school had put out extra tables in the student dining room, filling the gilded, carpeted space to near bursting capacity. It was loud and filled with kids who looked far too young to be in high school already; Rose felt like she was back in high school, albeit the language difference. Sydney's face said she was only present because she didn't want to eat alone in guest housing, but her eyes flicked across the rows of students with interest as they made their way through the room.

"They're split," she said to Rose as they and Eddie took empty seats at a table with other guardians off to the side. "They can't decide if you or me being here is more shocking."

Two Moroi girls walked past, conversation falling away when Rose made eye contact.

"What, do they think I'm dangerous or something?" she asked the other two, scowling.

"I mean, it _is_ a known fact that you were the last person to see Victor Dashkov alive after he had Queen Tatiana assassinated," Eddie said.

"Thanks." Rose rolled her eyes. "I had definitely forgotten how murdering the worst criminal in recent history was fucking with my guardianship to Lissa."

Sydney snorted, hand flying to her mouth. "Sorry, that was probably rude."

"It's only spirit that makes me homicidal," Rose replied with far too much nonchalance.

"Which is just . . . so ironic," Eddie said, his grin fading when he took stock of his plate. He poked at a squarish roll. "What's this?"

" _Golubsty_ ," Sydney said, watching with mild interest as Rose started in on hers without protest. "It's a stuffed cabbage roll."

"Olena makes it better," Rose said off-handedly. She pointed to the soup on Eddie's tray. "If you don't eat that, I will."

"You've gotten better about the food here," Sydney noted.

"Eat or starve to death." Rose shrugged. "But I stand by what I said. Olena makes this stuff better."

A tray landed on the table next to Rose. "Glad you think my mother's food is edible," Viktoria said, plopping down with a flourish and waved to Sydney and Eddie across the table. "Viktoria," she said, holding her hand out to Eddie.

"Eddie," he replied, eyebrows slightly knit in confusion.

"She's the youngest daughter of the family I'm staying with," Rose explained, accepting Viktoria's piece of black bread for her own second cabbage roll as she spoke.

"Oh shit," Eddie swore and when Rose made a noise of confusion, he added, "I forgot you're living with the Belikovs."

Rose stared him down, silently hoping nothing would give her away. She wanted to keep those In The Know limited to Sydney and Adrian.

Eddie didn't look at her, though, instead turning to Viktoria, excitement on his face. "Your brother is pretty much who we all aspired to be in school. If I could be half the guardian he is? Shit, I'll die happy tomorrow."

"I'm glad to hear," Viktoria said with a straight face, kicking Rose's foot under the table. "He's well-respected here in Russia, but we don't want to assume that everyone feels the same way. Rose," she added, turning to look at the girl in question, "You never mentioned this."

Rose saved a glare at Sydney for her terrible poker face to instead smile sweetly at Viktoria and say, "I didn't want come off as some obsessive fan, so I didn't say anything."

" _Dovolno lyubovnik deystvitelno_ ," Viktoria muttered under her breath just as Rose swallowed, and Viktoria watched Rose choke and recover with a shit-eating grin.

_Quite the fan indeed._

Sydney had given up trying to keep her expression in check and her surprise and excitement shone bright. "You didn't—" She started and Rose shook her head, cutting her friend off.

"Later." She glanced at Eddie, who looked as lost as ever, and the room of students behind him, all oblivious to their conversation. "There's enough rumors about me right now."

"By the way, Paul is looking for you," Viktoria said, deftly changing topics. "He wants to ask you something. A favor, I think."

Rose nodded. "If you see him before I do, tell him I'll track him down tomorrow morning. They've got me in the gym during morning classes."

"Something else that doesn't surprise me," Viktoria replied, eyes dancing with a secret and, ignoring Rose's open mouth of protest, she turned to Eddie to grill him on how he felt about being in Russia so far.

* * *

Rose had forgotten about Viktoria's lack of surprise over her morning placement until she walked into the novice's gym — on the first floor of the building, bigger than St. Vladimir's with a full-size running track circling the perimeter — and straight into Dimitri. He was as gorgeous as ever, his hair loose around his face, and she was hit with the desire to fall into his arms and not worry about why she was there before she could even process that she'd bumped into him.

"Hi," he said, face blank, like nothing over the winter had happened.

A little piece of her twisted at his non-emotion, but she forced on a professional smile. "Hey. This, um, is the gym, right?"

He looked behind him at the students milling about and warming up. "Yes, this is the gym," he replied, this time letting some amusement through for a second.

"Good." God, were the next few weeks really going to be this awkward? "How—"

Someone called Dimitri's name and he turned, shouted something back in Russian, and then addressed Rose. "Sorry, I've got to—"

"It's fine," she said, trying not to feel like she'd rather the floor swallow her whole.

He nodded, paused mid-turn, and then nodded again, like he, too, was so unsure of how to proceed.

"What's up with you and Belikov?" Eddie asked, causing Rose to jump a foot in the area at the sudden voice behind her.

"Nothing," she said nervously.

"Really?" He didn't look convinced. "Because he looked like you ran his dog over."

She snorted, finally entering the gym and looking around for a spot along a wall to take up for the next few hours. "Dimitri doesn't have a dog."

Eddie opened his mouth to say something but got cut off by the bell signalling the start of class, and she flashed him a _there's nothing, trust me_ smile.

The curriculum varied very little from school to school, so even though Rose only understood about half of what was being said, she still had a good idea as to what was going on. The class was first year novices, and Rose was shocked by how _young_ they seemed. St. Basil's, like several other schools, had shifted the training years for novices in response to Tatiana's age decree, so while it wasn't much of a surprise that a bunch of twelve-year-olds would seem like children in comparison to her own memories of school, it definitely looked wrong.

"Kids are being sent off into battle," Rose muttered to Eddie as classes changed and fourth year novices switched with the first years. "It's unsettling."

Eddie just looked grim.

Among the fourth year novices were a handful of older students, Viktoria included, and they joked around with the guardian supervising the combat classes in a way that the rest of the typical-aged students seemed wary to do. Paul wasn't present, but his friends from Christmas were and Rose wondered where he was.

He showed up in fourth period with the third years and gave Rose a friendly punch in the shoulder as he passed by.

"I've got a favor to ask," he said.

"Viktoria told me."

"Good." He grinned and jerked his chin at Eddie. "Paul Belikov. You a friend of Rose's?"

"Yeah," Eddie said, sizing the kid up.

"Cool, cool. Rose is on my short list of people I like, so you're probably alright, too."

Eddie's eyebrows creased together. "Thanks?"

"No problem." To Rose: "Hey, you ever finish that book I gave you for New Year's?"

 _Haven't started it._ "Mostly finished. Why?"

"Because we're discussing it in class next week and I want your opinion on it."

Dimitri, to Rose's middle school crush horror, was the lead instructor for the third year class, and when he called Paul's name out from across the gym after the bell rang, she felt Dimitri's eyes slide over her. His face was completely unreadable.

He was poetry in motion, she decided while watching him. For as much as she'd heard about his skills and joked to his face about being a sad, surly warlord, she'd never actually seen him do anything relatively combat-related until then. The class had learned a new set of upper body blocks earlier in the week and now they were practicing, repetitive reinforcement that Rose had hated as a student.

She didn't bother trying to hide how she watched nothing but him, correcting hands and stances with a firm patience that warmed her from the inside. She had no doubt that in an actual sparring situation, he would be deadly quick and almost impossible to beat.

After the class finished, Paul came bounding up to her, bookbag slung over a shoulder. "So, that favor."

"Hit me," Rose said, pushing the door open for both of them, Eddie following close behind.

"You saw how I was with the third years," he started.

"Your suspension held you back a year?" she guessed, and he nodded.

"I know you're only going to be here through Easter, but I was wondering if you could do some after-school sessions with me? Like a temporary mentor? You managed to graduate on time after missing two years, so I thought—"

"Sure," Rose said, swelling with pride. She liked Paul well enough and it would give her something to do to eat up the hours between the end of classes and dinner. Outside of classroom observation, she was scheduled for perimeter walks every other day after student curfew. It left her with more free time than she would've liked. At the very least, though, mentoring Paul would give her a chance to run every day. "I'll do it."

"Really?" He lit up like he'd been anticipating for her to say no.

"Yeah. It's going to be every afternoon, though. Weekends, too. Like you said, I'm only here for a few weeks."

Paul was still shining. "Awesome." The word came out awkward from a mouth not used to English consonants; the _aw_ came out sounding more like _ohv_.

He ran off after that, his friends waiting at the door for him so they could head off to the main building for lunch, and Eddie ran a hand through his hair. "It's easy to forget we're here in case of a Strigoi attack, isn't it?" he asked. "It's like we're just normal guardians assigned to work an academy."

"I'm still not used to being a guardian, period," Rose admitted, reaching up and adjusting her ponytail.

"True." Eddie's smile was weak. "Mason would've loved it."

"What, having a license to kill?" Rose quipped. "If I do, he definitely would have."

"Do you ever miss him?"

It was snowing outside and a gust of cold smacked them in the face when Eddie pushed the door open. Rose zipped up her coat, wishing she'd remembered her scarf before she'd left for breakfast that morning.

"Sometimes," she said. Around them, students and guardians rushed towards the commons where the dining rooms were housed. "I usually miss him most in the winter, though."

"Somehow it doesn't feel like it's been five years."

"Time is funny like that," she said, definitely thinking about Dimitri and the three weeks they had over the holidays. "It leaves you without saying good-bye."

* * *

She didn't see Dimitri during her afternoon shifts, nor did he ever seem to be at meals. In fact, Rose was fairly certain he was going to great lengths to avoid her, just as he had after she'd explained why they couldn't be together. The only time she saw him was in the morning, when they had to be in the same room together, and while he wasn't rude, he didn't go out of his way to make conversation.

Not that she was upset about that. He had every right. Still, it felt like in the process of ignoring _her_ , he was ignoring _them_ , and the realization that she hated that nearly knocked her over one evening a couple days after their literal run-in.

Sydney picked up on Rose's unhappiness about the situation almost right away and she was nothing but sympathetic and supportive, listening attentively as the dhampir laid out the entire story of their relationship and frowning when Rose detailed why she wasn't actively making out with him on a daily basis anymore.

"That sounds like Alchemist rhetoric," Sydney had said when Rose finished, both propped up against the headboard of the latter's bed. On the comforter in front of them sat long forgotten laptops and half-eaten packs of the Russian gummy snacks Rose practically lived on. "And you know how I feel about that."

Rose managed a smile through her sadness and leaned her head against Sydney's shoulder. "I wish I had more free will."

"I know." Then, "Adrian and I want to leave Court. Move up to Maine. My mom's up there with Declan but Adrian's nervous about my dad or any of my former superiors trying to find and drag me back to reeducation, so it's up in the air at the moment. I get where you're coming from, though. Adrian's free to go wherever whenever he pleases but I have to worry about things like potentially being kidnapped and brainwashed again. It's claustrophobic."

Rose made a face. "Can't you guys go somewhere like Mexico? Montana was bad enough and Russia's hell-bent on making me think I'll never see green grass again. I mean, I'll visit if you move to Maine, but I'll complain about it loudly the whole time."

Sydney laughed and said, "You belong on a beach, Rose Hathaway. Nowhere else is warm enough."

* * *

As it always does, time passed and routines established themselves.

Viktoria mostly kept to her friends, though she took to sitting with the trio at meals, occasionally inviting along her roommate, a nineteen-year-old dhampir girl from a town similar to Baia who'd also left school for a while to have a baby. Neither were planning on getting a promise mark, they'd shared one day, and while both expressed sadness over having to change their life plans, neither considered the decision a sacrifice.

(Rose's twelfth report spent three pages talking about that particular conversation at length.)

Paul was true to his word and diligently showed up early to his after-school practices, not complaining at all when Rose spent most of the time making him run. When she asked him why he was so neutral about it, he'd shrugged and said he was used to it since a lot of his earlier physical education had been running laps and regardless, she was the guardian and he was the student, _so I should listen because you must know what you're doing, yes?_

Most afternoons she ran, too, varying between keeping his pace and speeding up to her usual time depending on her mood - which was directly influenced by how much Dimitri looked in her direction during the morning combat classes.

The first couple of practices, though, were spent sitting against the wall, tearing through _Fathers and Sons_ so she was prepared for Paul's book club discussion. For four afternoons straight, she travelled around 19th century Russia and watched Arkady Kirsanov go after the girl he loved and come to odds with his best friend about his willingness to question everything while doing nothing to follow his own heart. For four afternoons straight, Rose mentally declared Paul Belikov to be the Ultimate Little Shit, even if she did straight up just enjoy the book for its story value.

She didn't see much of her mother, either, and she didn't know whether to be relieved or disappointed. They'd been working on establishing a friendlier relationship between them for a time before Rose left Court, but at the same time, she didn't want her mother to see the tangle of emotions she was on a daily basis.

Because it wasn't just Dimitri himself that left her confused and hurting and pining - it was being at St. Basil's, too, the place that had seen Dimitri when he'd been younger and happier, the school that had watched him grow up and become the man Rose was slowly begin to admit to herself she may not be as over as she was trying to convince herself she was.

If there was anyone who could figure out Rose's current emotional struggle with just a look at her face, it was Janine Hathaway. Mother's instinct and all that.

Eddie had picked up that something was different about Rose's relationship with Dimitri compared to her friendships with the other two Belikovs, but whatever observations he'd made he blessedly kept to himself. Instead, he cracked jokes under his breath during their morning shifts in the gym to keep her distracted and occasionally joined her and Paul in the afternoons, making bets with the kid over whether or not he could outrun Rose. (His success rate was lower than he'd openly admit to.)

And day by day, Rose was slowly coming to the realization that maybe she _could_ put herself first and be in a relationship with Dimitri Belikov. It was only when she saw him, though, that she was sobered with the reminder that she'd already royally fucked up her chances of that ever happening.


	14. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is, perhaps, my favorite chapter in this entire fic. I'll let you figure out why. ;)
> 
> Update next weekend!

 "I finished the book," Rose told Paul when he entered his literature class on the second Monday since her arrival at St. Basil's. In the corner of her vision, she saw Paul's friends Boris and Viktor enter the room, and the latter boy gave her and Paul an odd look before taking his seat.

"Excellent," Paul said with a knowing grin as his bookbag slid off his shoulder, oblivious to the room behind him. "What did you think of it?"

"I think you're a little shit," she said, her tone almost affectionate, and Paul only smiled wider in response before leaving her against the side wall for his friends.

The bell rang and the teacher, whom the class addressed as Natalya Sergeevna, brought the class to attention. She announced, in Russian, that the discussion was going to be conducted in English as practice for their upcoming American literature unit. The news was met with fewer groans than Rose had been expecting, and Paul flashed her a look that said he knew exactly what he was up to by asking her to stand in on this particular class meeting.

"Pavel Dmitrievich," Natalya called in English, and Paul's head whipped around, seriousness overtaking his expression. "Give us context of novel since you appear most ready to engage others in this discussion." Her accent was thicker with a more staccato rhythm than what Rose had grown used to hearing in Baia.

It wasn't until Paul spoke that Rose finally grasped just how fluent his English was. " _Fathers and Sons_ was published in eighteen-hundred-sixty-two by Ivan Turgenev as a response to the growing nihilism movement that occurred nearly two hundred years ago," he rattled off. "Major themes include the struggles parents and children face in relating to each other, the heartache of suffering in silence, and the sacrifices we make when we favor rebellion over tradition. It is arguably Turgenev's best novel, and I am inclined to agree."

A few titters rang out. Ignoring them, Natalya leaned against her desk at the front of the room, a dog-eared, beaten up copy of the novel in one hand. Her finger was bookmarking a page about halfway through. "Then why is this book still taught now? Is our nihilist movement not over?"

"It's being taught because it's timeless," Paul replied. "The themes are relatable no matter what is happening in history."

She called on another student, a Moroi, and asked, "Do you agree with him?"

"Yes," the boy said, glancing at Paul from across the room. "Although we are not university aged the way Arkady and Bazarov were, we still have a hard time relating to our parents. I know I do."

"Not having your feelings reciprocated is horrible, too," a Moroi girl said, raising her hand. "I cried when Bazarov died alone at the end."

"Why?" Natalya asked.

"Because I cannot imagine myself making so many mistakes that I become like Bazarov," the girl said, playing the ends of her ponytail.

"He didn't screw up, though," Paul argued. "Madame Odintsova was only mildly interested in Bazarov. He acted like himself and she decided that she didn't actually return the feelings after she got to know him."

Rose's jaw tightened at Paul's words, and she wondered what direction he was going in.

"Then why did relationship between Bazarov and Madame Odintsova failed?" Natalya posed to the class. Nobody spoke for a few moments until eventually Viktor stuck his hand in the air.

"Bazarov was a nihilist," he said slowly, his eyes fixed directly on the teacher. His hand twitched when he paused, seemingly collecting his thoughts, and then at a more normal speed, continued on with: "He was too proud to let himself fall in love. Madame Odintsova figured that out, and so she wasn't willing to give her feelings to someone who wouldn't let themselves love as much as they could."

"Do you think that is failing of the nihilism? Too much of this pride — can it hurt someone?"

"Definitely," Ponytail Moroi Girl said. "If you never admit that you are wrong, you will end up destroying your relationships. Bazarov always thought he was correct and it lost him a friendship with Arkady."

"What about how nihilism rejects authority?" Natalya's eyes flicked over the class. "Can that hurt someone?"

When Paul answered, Rose felt like he was speaking to her and not his teacher, even though he was facing the front of the room.

"I think rejecting authority can hurt people, but I think it can also help people, too. There are many instances where doing what you want can benefit you more than it can hurt you, especially if you don't worry about what others think."

A jolt of awareness shot through Rose. If Paul wanted to make a point to her about how she was handling her relationship with Dimitri, she was sure this was it. If a fifteen-year-old could grasp the concept of balancing what the heart wanted versus what logic and reasoning were saying, then why couldn't she?

At the same time, though . . . he _was_ only fifteen. He was still young and had a lot of growing up to do; he didn't have the responsibilities she had to prioritize, nor had he learned yet that life wasn't fair and often forced people to make sacrifices that they didn't want to make.

She stopped, shocked by her own thoughts. When in her own life had she gotten so cynical?

The discussion ambled on, but Rose tuned out, still stuck on Paul's words. She had no doubt he wanted her to hear him say that. In some ways, he could be just as meddlesome as his aunts. The similarity would be amusing if it didn't tear at her heart.

After Paul's literature class let out for the day, she fell into a fog through which she wandered for the rest of the week, grappling with herself and her thoughts. Maybe — _maybe_ — if she and Dimitri had met under different circumstances, then maybe — _maybe_ — it could've worked out for them.

If she was being honest with herself, there wasn't much in her daily life that would actively prevent they from really being together. Siberia was huge and Court was thousands of miles away. Dhampirs protected each other out here; there was no way couples like Mark and Oksana or Alex and Karolina would still be together otherwise. In truth, she really _was_ putting too much stock into being caught when there was no one around her who would turn them in.

In terms of pushing Dimitri away, the only thing she could really hide behind was her damn assignment and a bunch of uptight Moroi who could seriously hinder her career — but only if they found out. Maybe — maybe — she could teach herself to calm down while she was away from Court because truthfully, she did want _some_ time with Dimitri, even if a relationship wouldn't last forever. She could have a little bit of happiness for a while.

It was a shame she'd already burned that particular bridge.

* * *

It can be seen that for an ethnographer to accept being affected does not imply that he identifies with the native point of view, or that he takes advantage of the experience of fieldwork to tickle his narcissism. To accept being affected, however, supposes that one takes the risk of seeing one's ethnographic project vanish. For if this project is omnipresent, nothing happens. But if and when something does happen, and the project has not been drowned in the adventure, then an ethnography is possible.

— Jeanne Favret-Saada, "About Participation," _Culture, Medicine and Psychiatry_

* * *

Rose finally got her conversation with Dimitri two weeks after she'd arrived, though it wasn't anything she'd imagined.

"Can we actually do some sparring today?" Paul asked while warming up during his Friday practice session. Other novices, third and fourth years mostly, were scattered across the cavernous gym with their own mentors. "I get the importance of running, but they're killing me in class."

Rose had seen as much. Paul was taking a lot longer to get back on her feet than she had. "Maybe you should hit harder," she deadpanned and at Paul's glare, she laughed. "I'm kidding, of course we can. I've been waiting for you to ask. Get your gloves out, we'll go to one of the practice rooms."

Twenty minutes later, she slammed his upper body into the matted floor for the umpteenth time, having lost count a while ago. She had him pinned down, her knee pressing into his lower back and her hand wrapped securely around his wrists; after counting to three in her head to claim victory, she released his wrists and rolled off him, grinning at his conceding defeat.

"I regret asking you to do this," he groaned.

"Yeah, well, your fault." She pushed against the mat and jumped up, hands on her hips and her breath heavy. Behind her, the door opened, but she didn't register the noise. Instead, she reached out a hand to help him up. "You want another chance or do you want to go back to running?"

"I'd go with running if I were you, _plemyannik_ ," a voice said and Rose turned, her ponytail whipping her in the face with the motion. Dimitri stood by the open door, openly observing the two.

Rose tried to blame her racing heart on the energy she'd just exerted, but she knew she was kidding herself — her breathing had already returned to normal. It was because of Dimitri standing right there, looking at her long enough that she knew she wasn't imagining it.

" _Dyadya_ ," Paul greeted, leading Rose to guess the word Dimitri had used was probably something like _nephew_. "I want to see you two go a round," Paul said, his regular shit-eating grin in full force. His words caused both parties in question to immediately jump into protests.

"This is your time with Rose—"

"He's in jeans, that's not fair—"

They stopped and looked at each other, and Rose focused back on Paul before whatever expression was on her face could give her away.

"I can only get better by watching the best," he said, smirk still firmly planted on his face. He stepped out of the boundary line taped on the floor, took his gloves off, and tossed them to Dimitri, who caught them despite his initial argument. Gesturing to the floor before him, Paul said, "Come on, I've got homework to do."

"You're with me until four," Rose countered, unconsciously backing up to the center of the room to get in position.

Paul just shrugged, smirk growing wider when Dimitri finished tightening his borrowed gloves and stepped into the center of the room opposite Rose. He met her gaze for a moment and awkwardness was about to settle in when she leapt forward in an offensive maneuver that had knocked Paul down almost right away.

Dimitri, however, merely blocked it, evidence that he was double his nephew in age and experience, and for the briefest of seconds, the move reminded Rose of the night they'd met. His reflexes had been quick then, but they were faster now, not worn from a long drive and dealing with a younger sister who had a penchant for driving all her siblings up a wall in irritation.

Rose was good — by the time of her field experience, she had caught up with her peers and could dispatch opponents while hardly breaking a sweat and cracking a few jokes along the way. But Dimitri was perhaps a little bit better, if only because she, too, had less experience than him in the field, and she received as many blows as she dealt. His reputation as a badass, she decided early on in their match, was more than definitely earned.

She had to focus with everything in her to gain some kind of advantage — an advantage that would then slip away when he picked up on what she was about to do. There was nothing one knew that the other didn't; he just threw kicks and punches in an order that literally kept her on her toes. Her one strength against him was that for as much power as he could pack into his moves, she was just as quick, dodging before he could really land anything or do any significant amount of damage. It was exhilarating to finally meet her match.

She didn't know how long they parried, but enough time passed that she was beginning to sweat and her hair was starting to loosen from the elastic tying it back together. Dimitri looked like he was wearing out at a similar pace, and she knew the victor would only be determined by who collapsed first. Vaguely, she was aware that people were congregating by the door and bleeding into the room, curious about what was going on. The part of her that could process movement in her periphery wasn't surprised. Reputations aside, it wasn't often that two guardians would engage in a sparring match during school hours, particularly, Rose had learned, at St. Basil's, where the gymnasium building had enough space for a small staff gym on the top floor.

It was bad luck that did her in. Just as she was about to call for a draw, exhausted and barely able to keep her head up, she misstepped on a block, causing her foot landed wrong and her ankle to twist, giving out as she stepped into the move. She could see it happening in slow motion: her, on a quick trip down to the floor; him, taking advantage of her mistake and winning. She could have sworn he reached out to help her on her way down, but she was pinned before she could really tell.

Well, not _quite_ pinned. Dimitri's hands held her wrists down but he'd overshot where he fell on top of her — his knees landed by her waist instead of her hips. Her legs were totally unrestrained.

"Match," he called breathlessly, triumph shining through his fatigue.

Defeat wouldn't do. As he claimed victory, she summoned her last ounce of strength and pushed up from her feet, throwing all of her weight into flipping him over. She made sure her knees were correctly snug around his hips, even though it meant she had to reach to keep his wrists down.

"Checkmate," she countered, smug as hell.

He didn't move. Their eyes met and she froze, not expecting the hunger and admiration in his face. She was suddenly very aware of the position they'd landed in, her nerves little more than live wires as she fought the urge to lean down and kiss him. His expression said he was fighting the same urge, and she could've sworn she smelled smoke as they held each other's gaze, chests heaving from exertion.

Applause slowly filtered into her worldview, and she sprung up and away from him. No. She couldn't do things like kiss him. They had agreed they couldn't be together like that, not when she was openly claiming that all of her focus had to be on her job. She barely noticed Paul handing her a bottle of water, but she still drained it in four swallows, robotically accepting praise from onlookers — novices and other guardians alike — as they filed out.

"Roza," Dimitri said. She briefly closed her eyes, trying not melt at the nickname; when she opened them, she met his gaze through the mirrored wall in front of them. A thousand messages were splayed across his face, and she didn't want to read a single one, not when she couldn't back him up against the nearest flat surface to get rid of the last of her fading adrenaline.

She let out a sigh and slowly spun around on her heel to look at him in person. Paul had long disappeared with everyone else, leaving them two of them alone.

"You're . . . really good," Dimitri said as that blank stoicism she hated so much fell into place on his face.

She nodded once. "Thanks. So are you. I don't know how long we would've gone had I not tripped."

"How's your ankle? I saw you twist it."

She looked down to where she was leaning all her weight on it. "Doesn't hurt right now. It might later."

"Good. I mean, not good, but good that—"

"Dimitri, it's okay." Her laugh was nervous. "It's not like I've never dealt with a sprain before."

He stayed still, staring at her for a moment, like he was checking to make sure she really was okay. "How have you been?" he finally asked.

Her first instinct was to reach out and shake him for asking such a stupid question. The past nearly three months had been an emotional kind of hell that she hadn't previously experienced in her lifetime. Mason's death had been horrible and awful in the way that watching your good friend get dragged off by evil vampires was horrible and awful. Breaking up with Adrian had hurt, yes, but only for a few days and nothing like the emotionless void she'd fallen into as a way of protecting herself from the agony of parting like she and Dimitri had.

She couldn't lie, though. He'd see right through it. She wondered if he'd been hurting just as much as she had the past few months.

"I've been better," she settled on. "I've been much worse, but I've been a lot better, too. You?"

She'd been aiming for diplomatic but he still winced as if her words had cut right through him.

"About the same." Then: "I miss you."

"Don't," she said immediately, holding up a hand and squeezing her eyes shut tight again. For all the buildup in her head and the fact that he'd just said exactly what she'd been longing to hear, it was suddenly too much for her to deal with. The pain on his face alone was enough to squeeze her chest in a vice grip. "I'm sorry, but I just . . . I can't go there right now."

He was silent while she worked up the courage to open her eyes again. When she did, it took a while to look even look in his direction let alone at him directly.

"It would probably be too much to ask—"

She knew where he was going with that. "To be friends?" She shook her head. "Yeah, it is. Just a little bit. I'm still trying to get over what happened because if I can move on, then I can stop spending every day thinking about what could have been, and I need to stop feeling like I can't breathe."

He seemed to accept that.

"Maybe in the future," she said, throat thickening. "But right now, I just can't."

He stepped towards her and she was about to tell him off when his fingers brushed her cheek, tucking her hair back with all the gentle care in the world.

"To the future, then," he whispered, like he was making a promise and then he left, leaving her a shaking, quivering mess of emotions.

* * *

Patrol shifts were Rose's least favorite thing on the planet. There was nothing to do, especially during daylight shifts, except keep company with her own thoughts (how terrifying) and hope for something exciting, like a Strigoi that had figured out how to bypass sunlight hurting them (how implausibly terrifying). The only upside to working a daylight patrol shift was that she got to walk around in the sun for a couple hours, something she'd come to quickly miss once being back on an academy timetable.

And also catch punkass kids sneaking around after hours.

"Shouldn't you be in bed?" Rose cheerily asked one night a couple days later, her arms crossed over her chest.

Paul's horrified look as he slowly turned around was worth a laugh. He looked disheveled, like he'd just been in a bed that wasn't his, and his hand on the side door leading to the novice dormitory wing tightened once recognition dawned on his face.

"Shouldn't you?" he asked, quickly aiming for swagger and falling flat.

She raised her eyebrows and gestured at his bedraggled appearance. "Who's the girl?"

Paul's expression said he'd rather be eaten up by the ground but . . . there was something else there, almost like fear. Rose couldn't put her finger on it.

"There is no girl," Paul said, looking everywhere except her.

"Uh-huh," she said. If there was something going on, she wouldn't figure it out by pressing for answers. The best secrets were revealed naturally. "I'll let you go this time, kid, but next time I'll have to kick your ass for breaking the rules."

"Oh, I believe you," he said, eyes wide as he nodded. Word of Rose and Dimitri's match during Paul's practice had passed around the novices and other guardians quicker than the usual gossip speed and Paul had experienced a small popularity boost from being the source. He'd later admitted to Rose that he hadn't expected the fight to be so epic, but he was glad that he'd gotten to see it in person, unlike most of his friends.

"Paul," came an exasperated voice, and Rose and Paul looked up to see Dimitri approaching them.

" _Dyadya_." Paul nodded and Rose watched, intrigued, as Paul slid his game face back on, a carefree expression that she associated with him and — of all people — Adrian.

"What are you doing?" Dimitri asked, not nearly as amused. "It's after curfew."

Paul's lazy grin seemed forced in light of Dimitri's arrival, making Rose wonder what she had stumbled into when she caught him a few moments ago. "Testing security," he joked. "It sucks. What are _you_ doing, uncle?"

"I _am_ security," Dimitri replied, exhaustion slipping through his words. Rose tried to swallow a laugh; she failed and it came out sounding like a choked snort. Dimitri glanced at her and then, as if remembering she were there, amended his statement. " _We_ are security, I should say."

"Cool." Paul gave Rose a friendly punch on the shoulder, the gesture an inside joke between them now. "Keep us safe from those big, bad Strigoi, _tyotya_. I gotta get to bed." He shot the pair an unidentifiable look and then pulled the door open and slipped inside.

Rose was silent for a few moments, watching Dimitri watch his nephew through the small window in the door. "He called me 'Aunt'," she said after the click of the door closing cut through the quiet air.

"He did," Dimitri agreed and offered nothing more.

The back of the school reached the far edge of campus; around them white birch trees stretched up around them for seemingly miles and melting into the foot of snow that had fallen during the school day earlier. Paths had been cleared wide enough for two people to walk side-by-side comfortably. The sky was dull grey, splotched by leaves far enough away that they silhouetted against the clouds that were threatening more snow despite April's recent arrival. Even their clothes, the standard white and black guardian attire, seemed to disappear into the landscape. The only color in Rose's world in that moment were deep chocolate eyes gazing at her and dark brown hair peeking out from underneath a knit cap.

"Do you want to join me?" she asked out of nowhere, taking both of them by surprise. "I'm about to do my perimeter walk before my shift ends." Her mouth twitched. "I mean, you don't have to, not unless you have somewhere else you need to be."

Dimitri pushed past his shock quicker than she did. "No, I don't need to be anywhere else."

"Good," she said, letting herself fall back into nonchalance to cover up how the butterflies in her stomach were about to take off through her heart. "Because walking around by myself is pretty damn boring."

They fell into a silence, this one not as awkward they'd recently been but still not nearly as comfortable as they once had been. She usually had a million things to say and when all else failed, she had a million more ways of making small talk and yet . . . she was perfectly content to wander through the school's rear gate and pick through the woods by his side, the snow untouched the deeper in they went.

"It's weird," she said after nearly a half hour of quiet. They'd reached the farthest point from the campus and were about to double back along the wards. Above them, snow was beginning to fall.

"What is?"

Her gloved hands were jammed into her coat pockets, what little of her face that was exposed to the elements reddening from the cold nipping at her skin. "I have these moments — split seconds, really — when everything is quiet. It's easy to imagine I'm back at school, before the attack, when life was simple enough that I could be carefree. I was focused on catching up to be able to be Lissa's guardian when I graduate, but I still let my hair down, you know? But it's only for a moment, and then reality comes crashing back in." She shook her head and glanced at Dimitri to see if she was boring him to death. "I'm sorry, I don't know why I told you that. Sometimes I—"

"Roza." The use of her Russian name literally stopped her in her tracks and he slowed with her. "In the time that I've known you, you've never apologized for sharing any of yourself with me." She felt a flash of heat at his words that she shoved to the side. "And you don't have to start now. I will always listen to what you have to say, no matter what our relationship is."

Her gaze bore into his and she could see he spoke nothing but the truth. Her eyes were dry but the rest of her felt like crying, worn out and heavy with purposelessness.

"God, you'd be good to me," she mused, looking off to his left. "Because I'm a mess."

She turned back to see him raise an eyebrow.

_Did I say that out loud? Shit._

"In literally any other circumstance," she said, not quite sure where she was going with her thoughts, "I'd definitely be making suggestive comments about us being out here alone." She blew out a breath. "I think if things were different, if I hadn't met you while on an assignment, that maybe . . . maybe I wouldn't be half as terrified of how you make me feel. I think I would've let myself forget about responsibility and doing the right thing and just . . ." She met his burning gaze and finally was able to finish with: "I could just let myself be with you and enjoy every second of it."

"Why can't you?" He sounded like he was barely able to get the words out.

"Because I'll lose focus. I'll forget who I am. You make me do that. When I'm with you, I'm calm. Happy. I feel like who I was before the real world slapped me in the face. But I'm scared . . . I'm scared that you'll become my priority, that I'll sacrifice my ability to do my duty as a guardian because you'll be my first concern."

He took a step forward into her space. "You're worried that in the face of danger, you'll throw yourself in front of me and not your charge."

Breathlessly: "Exactly."

_Fuck, he's really close._

"You're not the only one who's thought about that," he said, "But I think it says something about the depth of whatever this is that it's even a consideration."

_He gets it._

She impulsively threw her arms around his neck, rocking up on her toes to press her freezing nose into his scarf. All of her stress over the past two and half weeks about being around him and the possibility of a Strigoi attack and fifteen-year-olds who weren't at all subtle about book symbolism disappeared, and she leaned into him when she felt his arms come around her waist, using all of his strength to hold her against him. She felt safe and cared for in his embrace, like anywhere else was as cold and harsh and lonely as the winter surrounding them that had disappeared from her conscious thoughts. All that existed for the eternities between heartbeats was his aftershave and the pressure against her lower back and _was that someone else walking nearby?_

She felt him go rigid under her at the same moment it registered that she heard someone else nearby. Her gaze darted around as she reluctantly pulled away, trying to determine if it was just an animal or, worse, a potential threat.

"You heard that?" she whispered and Dimitri only nodded in response. He put a finger to his lips and then pointed in the direction of the western edge of the wards. _That way, quietly,_ he seemed to be communicating.

They walked as silently as they could. At the edge, a letter that looked like the number three was carved into a tree for _zapad_ , the Russian word for 'west'.

"Maybe we imagined it."

"Maybe." He didn't seem convinced.

"I mean, you do start to—"

She paced in a small circle as she looked around, stopping when her foot hit something in the snow.

She didn't move. She couldn't breathe, couldn't think.

_Please don't let this be—_

"Rose?"

"I'm about to pull a stake out of the wards," she said, stock still and shoulders taut. _Slowly, slowly, you can breathe, it's okay._ "This isn't going to be the only one. There will be others. That's how they do it. A school this big with wards as highly maintained as these would require stakes every ten feet or so to break them, if I had to guess." She could feel the object against her boot still and without flourish, she reached down and gave a tug on it, coming up slowly with a wet, cold, gleaming stake.

Dimitri's body language suddenly mirrored her own and she could see him fighting the urge to look around wildly. She glanced over her shoulder. The falling snow was beginning to mask footsteps leading away from the wards.

"They must have put them in before the earlier snowfall," Dimitri said and Rose nodded, sidestepping a couple yards before poking her foot out to feel around in the snow. When her boot made contact again, she reached down and produced another stake with another slight tug. She held it up, stakes in both hands now, and Dimitri turned away, swearing under his breath in Russian.

"We have to go," he said, eyes darting through the trees behind her.

"Yeah, we do," she said as fear and adrenaline kicked in, because where there were broken wards, there were Strigoi waiting to wreak havoc.

She only had one thought as they booked it back to the school's rear gate: _I was right to worry._


	15. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm alive!
> 
> Bad jokes aside, if you follow me on tumblr, then about a month ago you probably saw I was having a hell of a time — and by that I mean four hospital trips in less than two weeks, including a five day hospitalization right at the beginning. A big thank you to everyone for being so patient in my getting this up — I know I would say "this weekend!" only to let another week or two disappear, but that 's only because my health was constantly fluctuating from day to day.
> 
> But I'm feeling a lot better and I'm back with an update, so that ugly mini-hiatus is over!

An hour later, Rose and Dimitri were standing over the first uncovered stake, this time with several other guardians including Captain Sosnitsky, who looked rather irritated at having been pulled out of bed in the middle of the night. A groundskeeper had also been woken up and was a ways off from the group, hurriedly clearing away the stakes and finding them roughly every ten feet like Rose had initially guessed.

"This is bad," Anton understated, rubbing his face wearily. He'd been on a patrol shift on the opposite side of the school and, like Rose, hadn't gone to bed yet. It was nearly 3 and the snow was picking up. "You found the first one, Rose?"

She nodded, watching her mother, who was squatted in front of the broken wards. The groundskeeper had dug the surrounding snow out from where the stake had been pushed into the ground.

"What time does the sun go down?" Janine asked.

"In a couple of hours," Sosnitsky replied, nodding towards the western horizon, broken up by the trees. "We won't be able to retrieve all the stakes and reset the wards, but we have enough time to secure the students and Moroi faculty." He turned to the guardian next to him, a man Rose had only seen at meals a few times. "Varenkov, go set the alerts. Wake Ryzhkin and have him organize everyone except essential personnel in the ballroom. All patrols that switch out at three are to inform their relief to keep a twenty foot distance on perimeter checks. No one comes near these wards unless their corpse is dragged over it."

Varenkov nodded once and quickly departed. Janine stood, still staring out into the distance.

"It's a shame the footprints are obscured," she said. "It would be helpful to know which direction they'll be coming from."

"What I want to know," Sosnitsky said gruffly, darting a glare towards Anton, "Is how this even happened in the first place."

Anton's face was stone blank but Rose had the feeling he was largely responsible for the screw-up, however much something like this could blamed on a single person.

Sosnitsky nodded to Anton as he turned in the direction of campus. "You and I will be having a chat after this is over, my friend. For now, we must begin planning our defense." He called out to the groundskeeper, who snatched up his bag of stakes and hoisted his shovel and followed after Sosnitsky on the trek back to the school.

_It's a shame the footprints are obscured_.

The words bounced around Rose's mind as she crouched down in the same spot as her mother, staring out in the same direction.

"Rose?" Dimitri asked, pausing mid-step in his following the rest of the group when he realized she wasn't walking with them.

She might have been imagining things, but later, she would swear up and down that she had seen depressions in the snow where the footprints hadn't been completely filled in by fresher snowfalls.

"We might actually be able follow the tracks," Rose said, more thinking out loud to herself than anything.

"No, we can't," Dimitri said, returning to stand just behind her. His tone said she was crazy for even considering it. "There's too much fresh snow."

"You can see them." She pointed to a slight dip in the snow. It was about the length and width of a foot.

"Okay," he said, like he still didn't believe her, "Even if we can, you would get lost in about five minutes. The forest surrounding the school is too . . . I'm not sure if there's a good English word for it. It's a labyrinth. Everything looks the same and you'll start wandering in circles long before you realize it. We mark the trees along the wards for a reason."

Frustration was building inside of her, a surface reaction to the terror filling her veins. She sprung up, gesturing beyond the wards behind her as she spoke. " _This_ is exactly why we need to start going on the offense instead of waiting around for them to attack. I saw the Alchemist report that came in last week. It wouldn't have been hard to figure out where they set up base camp if someone had looked at that report longer than it takes to shuffle it off into some folder to be forgotten about. Now, we know they're going to attack and we know lives will be lost."

"Exactly. We know they're coming. We can make sure everyone who's a liability is protected before they even reach the wards. There's a lot you're saying that I agree with, but for right now, we're in a pretty good situation, all things considered. Imagine if we didn't have this warning."

"I don't have to. I've lived through this nightmare before," she snapped, brushing past him as she started to head back to the school.

"Rose—"

She turned the ball of her foot, anger and fear rolling off her in waves. " _What_?"

A beat. "Nothing." Then: "You probably shouldn't go to the meeting."

The anger overpowered for a moment. "Why the fuck shouldn't I?"

"Because you've been awake over eighteen hours," he pointed out. "Sosnitsky won't let you out on the front lines if you haven't had any sleep in a while. And I know you want to be there, so don't try arguing with me about that."

She studied him for a moment, trying to pull her emotions in check. "You know, suggesting I take a nap would've been better worded."

He laughed, hollow and flat. "I'm much more eloquent in my native language, Rose, trust me."

"I do," she said automatically. The fury had dissipated some and she jerked her head in the direction of the school. "If I'm taking a nap, so are you. You've been up just as long as me."

* * *

"Coffee and some of those pancake-looking things," Eddie offered when Rose arrived at the ballroom to get an update on what was going on.

"Blini," Rose corrected automatically, taking the small styrofoam plate and cup from him. She looked past him at the organized commotion going on in the rest of the room. "What's going on?"

"We're almost ready to head out," a voice from behind her said, and she nearly jumped out of her skin before realizing it was Dimitri talking around a barely contained yawn. His gaze was fixed on her coffee. "Is there any more of that?"

"I got it," Eddie said, dipping out of the way.

"Are you going to be okay for this?" Rose asked Dimitri softly.

He nodded. "I have to be. I'm needed out there."

"Do me a favor?"

"Anything."

"Try not to do anything too reckless out there."

Dimitri grinned, his full smile shining through for a moment. "I feel like I should be telling you that." He shook his head and tucked a stray lock of her hair behind her ear. Briefly, she remembered she would need to put it up soon. "No recklessness here, I promise."

"Thank you," she murmured, and then Eddie returned with more coffee, effectively shifting the conversation back to strategy and logistics.

* * *

"I don't like how still the air is," Rose murmured, barely audible over the sounds of crunching snow and palpable tension among the guardians who'd been posted along the western edge of the wards for the battle.

"Strigoi will do that," Janine muttered back. "Back in the school . . . you and Belikov… well, you two look like you're close."

_This is quite literally the worst time to bring this up, Mom._

"I live with his family for my assignment," Rose said with a shrug, trying to parse her mother's tone. Was a distraction good right now? The reviews would probably be mixed. "I'm close to all of them."

Janine stopped short, grabbing Rose's wrist. Concern — for her and only her — bled through her otherwise blank exterior. "No matter what's going on, Rose, I want you to be careful. I'm serious. The fewer things clouding your judgment, the better. There's no room for emotions in our line of work. We can't afford the liability, not when others depend on us for their lives and security. You'll only end up hurt, one way or another."

Eyes narrowed, Rose watched as a couple mental puzzle pieces slid together. "Is this about me or is this about you?"

"It doesn't matter," Janine deflected. "If there's no other advice I can give that you'll take to heart, let it be this." She gave Rose's wrist a gentle squeeze. "Not that you need to hear it, but keep your head up. I'll see you on the other side."

_How charming, Morticia,_ Rose grumbled to herself as Janine parted ways to head to her own post, not far from where Rose had been placed along the wards.

She didn't know where Dimitri was — he, too, had been posted on the western edge, like most of the more experienced guardians — but he was far away enough that she couldn't make out his silhouette. She couldn't decide if she even wanted to know where he was or not.

By the time she reached her post, the sun had set, leaving her with nothing to do but wait. It felt like for the longest time that maybe they'd miscalculated, maybe the Strigoi were coming a different night; after all, hadn't it been a little presumptuous to assume that—

Snap.

Crunch.

Scream.

_They're here._

Almost immediately, intense nausea rolled over her, nearly making her go weak-kneed. She grabbed for one of the hundreds of birch trees surrounding them, ghost white in the moonlight, and took a couple deep breaths of air to clear her head.

It was like a wall barreling straight for the school, a sea of hungry red eyes intent on breaking past the impressive barrier of bodies the guardians had managed to stage. Two Strigoi seemed to be headed for Rose in particular, and she pushed herself to stand up straight, doing her best to work past the nausea so she could fight.

And fight she did. She threw herself into the mess, only being able to distantly register how many Strigoi were surrounding them — there were easily twice as many Strigoi as there were guardians. The numbers were staggering if what she thought she was seeing turned out to be true.

Two at once was not an easy task. It seemed that for every punch or kick she got in, there was just as many that she had to block. What blows did land on her passed unnoticed, her adrenaline working overtime to keep her focused on the fight in front of her. She hadn't faced a Strigoi in some time, not since an ill-fated shopping trip to Philadelphia a few years prior with Lissa when they'd both made Dean's List one semester at Lehigh. If she hadn't had her sparring match with Dimitri a few days ago, she didn't know if she would've been able to hold her ground as well as she was.

One of the Strigoi, a woman with black hair who was probably around forty or so, threw her foot out and dead-kneed Rose, who used the momentum to roll away. The Strigoi followed, lunging for an easy kill, but Rose kept rolling with the other woman, pushing her into the ground and staking her awkwardly from the top. It did the job well enough; the Strigoi screamed in pain before her body went limp.

The other one had been watching, standing on the peripherals and ready to let his companion do most of the work. Rose pushed herself up and spun around, chest heaving, and he visibly blanched. "You're that Hathaway girl, aren't you?" he snarled, more than likely trying to bluff over his fear.

Irritation flashed through Rose. Did people have nothing better to do than talk about her? "You know," she said breathlessly, reaching over and tugging her stake from the Strigoi corpse on the ground, "I get that a lot, and I'm sick and tired of hearing it."

He grinned, apparently getting comfortable with the banter. "You won't—"

Using his distraction to her advantage, she took two long strides forward, pinned the Strigoi against the tree behind him, and staked him in one swift motion.

"Not today, Satan," she muttered under her breath, pulling her stake free and letting the body slide to the ground. Blood pooled out of his chest, staining the snow beneath him. All she could see was black on white. Nothing ever looked red in the moonlight.

In the moment she took to catch her breath, a hand reached out and grabbed her from behind, pulling her up by the neck of her layered thermals. She twisted, trying to see the face of her attacker, and nearly dropped her stake in shock.

He was blonde. Familiar. It took her a beat to remember who exactly was standing in front of her but when it sunk in, her heart dropped out through her stomach — Nathan.

"Hello, Rose," he crooned, fangs glistening in the moonlight. A cruel excitement, the kind seen in those who enjoyed torturing, lit up his blood red eyes, and his voice was just as cool and calculating as Rose remembered. He seemed more annoyed than anything when she kicked out, trying to hit him so she could get away from his grasp. "I was hoping I'd get to see you again."

"Fuck off," she spat, face red from her struggling. His arms were longer than hers and he held her at such a distance that the only contact she could make was with her feet, and even then, she wasn't close enough to really hurt him. The front of her shirt collars were on the verge of choking her.

He _tsk_ ed and grabbed her wrist, squeezing it with a twist hard enough that she actually dropped her stake this time. It fell to the snow, the snow silencing its landing admist the snarls and screams in the background. Panic began to take over, her vision blurring and guardian training flying out the window as she fought to stay conscious. "I'm not at all sorry for killing your boyfriend. You foiled my plans and I couldn't get to the Queen in time. I should've just killed you then. Would've saved me all this trouble. The note I sent to Court . . . that was just a bluff. No, shh, Rose, stop struggling. You'll only make it harder on yourself. Just listen."

He made a wide sweeping gesture around him as guardians and Strigoi slayed one another. "None of this wouldn't have happened if you hadn't come. I wasn't going to attack another school. That's not my endgame. _You_ are. You and Vasilisa. But you're inconveniencing me — you found a sister for her to get her elected and now she's hidden away behind all those wards and guardians." He _tsk_ ed again, shaking his head as she gasped for air. The edges of her vision were beginning to black out. It figured witty one-liners would literally be the death of her. This was why she didn't let herself have nice things.

"No, Rose, you made it so much harder for me to continue to taking out the Royal families, which is why I have to kill you. It'll be a shame, though. We want the same thing after all, don't we? To dismantle the current system? They're so _rich_ and _powerful_ , always controlling everything about you — what you do, what you wear." He shook her roughly; she coughed, sputtering for air. "It's why I gave it all up, so I could make all my own choices. Freedom from that caged existence guardians call a life has never been sweeter. And I can see it in you, too — you crave free will, and you know, deep down, that you'll never get it if you stay by Vasilisa's side for the rest of your life."

She didn't get to answer. Just as she was about pass out, something collided hard with Nathan, forcing him to loosen his grip on her shirts. She had just enough oxygen left to twist away, breaking free and dropping to the ground. The grunts of a physical altercation filtered through her fight to breathe.

Blindly, she dug her hands through the snow, finally wrapping around her stake after a couple of cold, terrifying moments. She scooted away, her back against a tree and fingers clawing at the collars of her shirt, gasps and shuddering breaths loud in the night around her as her lungs burned to work properly again.

Eventually, she was able to focus on the sight in front of her — Dimitri had somehow made his way to her and was currently tangling with Nathan. On a good day, it would've been a fair fight, but Rose could see the exhaustion lining Dimitri's hard, intense expression. He was utterly focused on Nathan, his one goal — to take out the threat — driving his every movement.

Rose couldn't tell if the nausea that threatened to make her puke was from having Strigoi so close or if it was a stress reaction to nearly being choked into unconsciousness. She rolled onto her knees, side pressed into the tree for stability and security, and heaved.

_How can you possibly be so pathetic? You've survived a school attack before. You made your first kills at 17 and racked up dozens more when you were looking for Lissa's sister. What's so different this time?_

A loud cry made Rose's head jerk up. Dimitri was quickly wearing out, and he seemed to be favoring his left leg in a way that indicated something was wrong with his other ankle. She barely had time to process what was happening until all of a sudden, Nathan had Dimitri pinned against a tree.

She couldn't think. The briefest of images flashed through her mind — Dimitri, like Nathan, with pale skin and blood red eyes — and for a heartbeat, the idea of Dimitri being turned scared her more than nearly losing her own life.

She stumbled to her feet, switching her stake to her other hand when fire shot through her wrist with the motion of pushing herself up. In three shaky, long strides, she shoved into Nathan, who stumbled only half a step. His arm flung out, connecting with her stomach, and suddenly, she was soaring through the air.

Her back hit something hard, there was a sickening crunch, and then the world snapped to black.

* * *

Her body was on fire. Breathing hurt.

Everything was black. Her only line of sight the timeless void below and in front of her.

_I can wake up, can't I? If I just try hard enough, then maybe—_

It was a struggle to open her eyes. Her body was sore to the point that even her eyelids refused to cooperate.

She pushed forward and when she got her eyes fully opened, the bright light made her quickly squeeze them back shut.

"Can you get the light?" someone whispered.

The words sounded like a shout.

A new darkness settled over the room and Rose forced her eyes open again. The weak late March light that filtered in through the window was more than enough to see the handful of people sitting in — shit, was this a hospital room?

Eddie. Sydney. Her mother. Underneath her cool, Alchemist-trained exterior, Sydney seemed shaken to her core. The other two looked pretty beat up but otherwise alive. There was a pretty impressive bandage above Eddie's right eye.

She tried remembering what happened. It came back in blips, images not sequencing together until she saw Dimitri, pressed into a tree by a familiar but unidentifiable Strigoi.

_No, he couldn't have._

She jerked upwards, agony shooting through her head and shoulder. "Where's Dimitri?" she gasped. The pain was a fifteen on the one-to-ten scale.

Nobody answered her. Janine leaned forward in the chair next to Rose's bed and gently guided her back down. "Stop moving. You broke your shoulder."

"That doesn't—" Her throat hurt like hell, the air being pushed through like sandpaper against exposed muscle. "Where's Dimitri?" she repeated more forcefully, dread beginning to overwhelm her.

Janine glanced at Eddie, who ducked out the door with a nod.

Water. She needed water. After she figured out where Dimitri was. He couldn't not be alive. There was no way. Her brain was refusing to accept it.

"Will someone talk to me? _Please_?" She cast one last furtive glance at her mother. Horror filled her. "Where. _Is_. He?"

Eddie returned with a nurse, who wasted no time in hurrying over to the vitals monitor standing by her bed and quickly pressing a couple of buttons. Almost immediately, Rose began to feel drugged out, morphine slipping through her veins and calming her down.

* * *

When she surfaced again, she didn't open her eyes right away, even though she felt like it would be much easier this time around.

Still calm.

Pressure on her hand.

Her fingers twitched

The pressure twitched back.

She focused enough to realize it was a hand.

"Roza."

Her eyes flew open and she nearly started crying when she saw Dimitri sitting next to her. He'd pulled up a chair so he could sit as close to her as possible, his knees awkwardly tucked under the bed. His fingers were tangled with hers as best they could given the cast on her wrist, and he squeezed tight now that she was awake.

His eyes were brown.

"Oh my God, I thought—"

She began crying, all her previous fears melting away into exhaustion. He was up and over her in an instant, hugging her mostly on her right side, his face buried in her neck.

"I'm here," he whispered, dropping a kiss just below her ear, his free hand smoothing her hair from her face. "I'm here, Roza, I'm not going anywhere. I'm here, I'm here, I'm here."

She took a moment to take stock of her body now that she knew Dimitri was alright. Her cast extended from mid-fingers to upper forearm; her left arm was in a weird cuff sling thing that kept her entire limb immobile against her chest. She ached, and not just from getting tossed around like a ragdoll. Her words were barely audible as she calmed down.

"How did you . . . ?"

Dimitri pulled back, his eyes flooded with emotions, and he cupped her cheek, cool fingers brushing against her heated skin to help continue calming her down. "When you charged at that Strigoi like you did . . . it was the half-second I needed. I don't know how you did it. I thought you were done. You looked like it."

"I feel like it," she said, her head throbbing. Crying and head trauma didn't mix well.

Dimitri laughed softly, relief flooding his features. "You're a warrior, Rose. You'll be alright. Bodies heal."

His small smile made her feel like she was floating . . . and then she remembered her earlier confusion.

"Where _are_ we, exactly?"

"Omsk." He sat back down, one hand tangled with hers despite the intrusive cast and the other resting on her leg, his hand scorching her skin through the blankets. At her continued puzzlement, he said, "There's a Moroi-staffed wing in the hospital here that's better equipped to deal with field injuries than what St. Basil's can do. You were among the handful of those in critical condition, so they sent you here." He squeezed her leg. "I'm sorry I wasn't here when you woke up. It took me a while to be able to leave the school."

Her heart soared at his words but the flight stopped mid-air when her mother's voice from days ago snuck in her ear.

_There's no room for emotions in our line of work. You'll get hurt, one way or another._

"You—" She struggled to find words. "You showed up because I was in trouble. You abandoned your post to save me."

"That's not—"

"Let me _talk_ , Dimitri," she gritted out, her head filling with pain. She wanted to get the words out quickly so she could sleep again. As happy as she was to see him, the whole exchange was quickly wearing her out. "My mistake pushed you into acting irrationally. No, you did, don't argue with me on that. You're not supposed to step in unless the rest of the threat has been neutralized. It's guardian one-oh-one stuff. There were other Strigoi out there, Strigoi that were making a push for the school, and you chose to throw yourself in front of me instead of the rest of them. You nearly died because of that. Or worse. I'm not sure what would've happened to you."

Her gaze was steely, but he met her in it, moment for moment of contact. "This," she said, referring to the two of them, beaten up and battered in a hospital room, "Is exactly why I said why I was hesitant to really get involved with you." She swallowed, hating herself for even thinking of uttering her next words. "There's no room for emotions in what we do, Dimitri, you know that as well as I do. We can't afford to be emotionally liable in the field. We're not even really dating and it's already been proven that we'll worry about the other before anything else. That flies in the face of everything we were trained to do."

Dimitri's face had hardened and by the time she finished talking, lungs winded and throat sore, most of his warmth had been locked away. He still kept his hands on her, but they felt oppressive and weighted now.

"You know I'm right," she finished.

"No, you're not," he replied softly, accent thick. Voices from just outside her door floated through and he stood again, leaning forward to press a soft kiss to her forehead, his nose brushing against hers as she trembled underneath, barely able to keep her tears at bay. "You think you're right, but only because you don't know what you're doing. I . . ." His breath hitched. "I can't keep my feelings buried, Roza, not after I came so close to losing you. The thought of living my life without you . . . You said it yourself — I _would_ be good to you. So let me show you. Let me show you what it's like to let someone else worry about you instead of you shouldering the world on your own."

Anxiety wracked her, tears spilling over. "I—I don't know how—"

_I don't know how to be anything but Lissa's guardian._

"Let me show you," he whispered, his breath against her lips, his forehead pressed ever so gently against hers, the only balm for the storm inside her head. "Let me show you how beautiful the world can be if you let me love you."

Time stopped. Her eyes slid open, the air drying her tears, and she peered up at Dimitri, who was so close and looking at her like she was his everything.

The door rattled, breaking the spell and propelling Dimitri across the room to the window, looking out at the city lights blinking through the now night sky. To anyone else, he looked casual and unbothered. To Rose, she could tell he was furious at having been interrupted.

A different voice echoed in her mind.

_We want the same thing, don't we? To dismantle the current system? They're so_ rich _and_ powerful _, always controlling everything about you. . . . I make my own choices. And I can see it in you, too — you crave free will._

What did it say about her choices in life that a Strigoi's logic sounded appealing?

Yet . . . he wasn't wrong. She _did_ crave free will. She would've loved to have gone to college on her own terms, do something other than get up, go to work, talk to the same ten people every day, eat, go to bed, lather rinse repeat. She wouldn't give up being Lissa's guardian or best friend for the world, nor did she regret the choices she'd made to get to where she was now, but there had always been something missing. She had a life that people would kill for — a steady paying job, a roof over her head that wasn't going anywhere, a friend group so closely knit it felt like a makeshift family — and yet . . . it had never felt whole.

She'd never felt whole until she met Dimitri Belikov and had him turn her entire life upside down.

A nurse — Rose could clearly see now that it was a Moroi — finally got the door open, apologizing in Russian and muttering something unfavorable about sticky door handles under her breath. She bustled over to the side of Rose's bed where Dimitri had been just moments prior and started checking her vitals. She asked Rose something that went straight over her head. When Rose stared back, totally at a loss, the nurse turned to Dimitri and asked him something different.

Dimitri stepped forward, worry creasing his brow and tensing his shoulders. Any signs of their earlier conversation had been carefully tucked away for the next chance they were well and truly alone. "She wants to know how you're feeling."

"Like I got thrown into a tree," she deadpanned and when Dimitri translated, the nurse gave a small smile. She asked a couple more questions and Dimitri gave them to Rose in English one at a time.

"How's your head?"

"It hurts? She's gonna need to be more specific. I can't think clearly right now."

He said something to the nurse, who responded with what sounded like numbers. "She said to go by a scale of one to ten."

" _Dyesyat_ ," she said to the nurse, her brain cooperating enough to remember the word for ten in Russian. The door opened again and Rose's eyes flicked to Janine slipping in, staying by door with a small nod.

The nurse grimaced and motioned for Dimitri to ask the next question.

"Your wrist?"

"Like maybe a six? Seven?" To the nurse, " _Syem_ , let's go with seven."

"And your shoulder?"

" _Dyesyat_ ," she repeated. The pain she felt had slipped away during her conversation with Dimitri but was now back in full force.

The nurse said something, motioning to Rose's ankle.

"She needs to take your blood pressure but she can't do it on either of your arms," Dimitri explained and Rose nodded.

"That's fine. _Ohne mozhet,_ " she said, starting to kick the blankets free. _She's allowed._

A few minutes later, when the rest of her vitals were completed, the nurse let loose a rapid-fire string of Russian that Dimitri simply nodded to. " _Da, miy znayem_ ," he said when she finished and Rose melted in the small bit of language. She rarely ever heard him speak Russian, but when she did, she turned to putty. His voice in English was enough to do things to her she didn't want to think about with her mother in the room.

" _Dobroy nochi,_ " the nurse said before dipping out of the room again. _Good night._

"What did she say?" Rose asked when the door clicked shut.

Dimitri took his old chair, rubbing his face wearily. Rose suddenly wondered when the last time he slept was. "You slept the first few days you were here, so now that you're awake, they're ready to send you home. A physical therapist will be here in the morning to go over exercises for you to do when your shoulder is mobile again and the cast will be off in a couple of days. You'll probably be discharged tomorrow afternoon."

"I suspect they'll give you enough painkillers to last you the year," Janine said when Rose started to protest about _how could they possibly let me leave in this much pain?_

"Your mother's right," Dimitri said. "There's not much else to do now except heal."

Rose sighed. The urge to go back to sleep was stronger than ever. "It'd be safe to assume I'm going back to Baia after this," she said.

"Maybe," Dimitri said slowly, sparing Janine a brief, worried glance.

"What?" Rose asked, sensing something was going unsaid.

"The Queen wants you to come home," Janine said. She stepped forward, slowly easing herself onto the bed by Rose's feet so as not to jostle her. "With everyone off school property and safely home, the extra guardians called in have all been released back to normal duty. Well, except for those like you who got seriously hurt."

_And I can see it in you, too — you crave free will, and you know, deep down, that you'll never get it if you stay by Vasilisa's side for the rest of your life._

Dimitri was watching her carefully.

"I'm staying," Rose said and she nearly smiled from the shock on both their faces. ( _And was that a little bit of hope on Dimitri's?_ )

"Rose, I don't think—"

"Mom, there hasn't been a Strigoi attack on Baia in decades. Honestly, I'm safer there than I was at St. Basil's. Strigoi don't mess around with dhampir towns like that." She swallowed, still desperately wishing for water. "Besides, Lissa gave me a task, one I intend on seeing out to completion. I've got another, what, seven months? And the days are getting longer, so I've got daylight on my side, too."

Janine, still frowning, nodded. Her eyes flicked to Dimitri, who was staring at Rose curiously. "I'll call Hans and let him know." She stood and was about to leave when she turned suddenly. "Oh, by the way . . . I, um, would like to accompany you on the drive back."

Rose noticed even Dimitri was taken aback by the uncharacteristic pause. "Guardian Hathaway, you don't have to—"

"Not with your ankle, I don't think so," Janine replied with a hard look that made Rose realize just exactly where she'd gotten it from. She flashed the pair a tight smile. "I'll see you in the morning, Rose."

When it was just the two of them, Dimitri turned to Rose. "I thought you might've jumped on the first chance to go back home."

"What?" Her confusion was palpable. "Why would I do that?"

"I thought I might have pushed you away with what I said earlier," he replied. "Plus, you seemed so at ease with your friends the past two weeks that I—"

"Dimitri," Rose interrupted, reaching for his hand. "They'll still be in the States when I get back. I think . . . I think I have an opportunity to make a decision for myself and what I want and it's right here, right now, right in front of me. I want to take it. I mean, it's great and all that I can silence a room with just my presence, but I don't know who I am fully. Yeah, I'm a guardian, and yeah, I'm Lissa's guardian, but you keep talking about this world where I can be something more than that, where I can be my own person." Still looking at him, she tilted her head, trying to find a more comfortable position. "I want you to show me that world."

Never before had Rose seen someone look so ecstatic — not even the look on her own face in the dozens of post-graduation photos Lissa insisted on taking years ago compared to the elation on Dimitri's face.

"I will," Dimitri promised, grinning wide. "We can talk more when we're home, after your mother leaves. I can see you're tired." He paused, looking hopeful. "Can I kiss you?"

Rose snorted, ignoring the throb in her head as a result. "If you don't, I'm gonna scream bloody murder, and that'll be hard to explain."

Grinning in response, Dimitri bent over and gave her the kind of kiss that, even lying in a hospital bed, made her knees weak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To Be Continued...


	16. Chapter 15

_'To Be Continued'? What?!_ — you right now, probably

 _Let Me Show You_ is finished and we're going on a short break! The plan has always been to take a breather at this point in the story so that I could finish working on the sequel — this has nothing to do my impromptu mini hiatus in April, I promise! (Though, coincidentally, I do need to also focus on getting my health back in order and settling my affairs with school.)

And while we're on the subject…here's a sneak peek to tide you over for the next few weeks.

* * *

"Hans told me you asked to stay on with the assignment," Lissa said, effectively cutting Rose off before she could start an argument.

"Even if I wanted to come back," Rose said, "I would've had to stay through at least getting my cast off. I wasn't in any shape to be on the first plane home like Eddie and Sydney. Did they get back without any problems?" she asked Adrian, who nodded in reply.

"'Wanted to come back'?" Lissa echoed. This time she actually did look a little hurt.

"I mean—" Dimitri, as he always did, was in the front of her thoughts, and she pushed him to the side so she could focus on wording her answer. No way was she going to admit that the sole reason she was staying was because of him. Admittedly, though, she was beginning to feel selfish for her choice now that she was facing her best friend. "I have a duty to fulfill here, Liss, one you gave me. I want to see this thing through to completion."

Lissa nodded, the corners of her mouth still turned down. "I heard from Eddie you broke your shoulder and wrist and that you suffered a concussion?"

"Yeah." Rose rolled her wrist. It hadn't even been a full week, so even though the cast was off, it was still sore and bothersome. "And then, you know, just generally feeling like I got hit by a truck after being thrown into a tree." She didn't mention the nightly panic attacks when her dreams turned to memories of being slowly choked to death. There was already enough worry streaming across the bond.

"Okay. I mean, it's not okay — I'm just relieved you're alive. We lost two dozen guardians despite having some preparation on our side."

"Yeah, well, you should see the other guys," Rose quipped in an attempt to cover up her unease. Nobody had given her hard numbers, just that there'd been equal numbers of guardians and Strigoi and, by all accounts, it was considered a victory against the Strigoi. Two dozen guardians was a lot of lives lost.

Lissa rolled her eyes. "You're clearly fine." The image of her flickered, and she sighed. "That's my alarm. I hate to leave you, but my wedding planner is sending me to find a dress outside court since apparently I'm the pickiest bride in the history of forever." Her irritated look spoke legions. "And I have to be up in daylight for that, so I gotta go."

"No worries," Rose said, a sudden pang of sadness shooting through her as she realized this was another thing she was missing out on. Until that moment, not being by Lissa's side while dress shopping had been an inconceivable thought. It was something they'd talked about growing up, and Rose was giving it up by staying in Russia.

 _You can't have it all_ , she told herself.

"Go," she said. "Send me photos and we'll chat later or something." And then before Lissa could say anything, Rose pulled her in for a long, tight hug and let her shimmer away.

"You've been quiet," Rose noted, turning to a thus far silent Adrian.

"Watching your aura," he said, still staring at the space just slightly next to her. It was like he was looking at a photo an inch off-center. "It was glowing until you lied through your teeth about wanting to finish the job Lissa gave you. And now that I bring it up, it's dimmed again. What gives?"

She shook her head. If one person knew, that was one too many. "No idea what you're talking about." _Damn, you can't even tell a bad lie well._

"Rose," Adrian said, firm but warm. "You don't lie to Lissa unless you've got a good reason. I'm just trying to make sure you're not accidentally starting World War Three here."

* * *

_After the events at St. Basil's, Rose Hathaway had to make one of the biggest decisions of her life — comply with Lissa's wishes and return to Court, a get-out-of-jail free card to ending her assignment early, or go against orders and stay in Russia in order to follow her heart. Having chosen the latter, Rose now faces a host of challenges she hadn't anticipated upon arriving in Baia months ago, including the problems she must contend with as a result of having chosen love over duty._

_And everyone remembers that Rose is only on assignment as punishment for what happened to Victor Dashkov…well, everyone except for Rose herself._

**Call My Name  
** Coming June 2016


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